


Tying Loose Ends

by Chocchi



Series: Recovery Process [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Break Up, F/F, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Minor Character Death, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-11
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2017-10-30 22:33:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 89,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/336922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chocchi/pseuds/Chocchi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It can be healthy to just start things over when it gets too bad. However, some things need to be seen through to the end before you can move on.<br/>Sometimes the end can be a little traumatizing for all involved parties.</p><p>ETA 7/16/2015: The break-up in the tags is not for the main pairing, but is heavily discussed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ETA 7/16/2015: Sequel to Friendship is Still A Thing and Growing Pains.  
> I tried to make the character and pairing tags more representative of the main characters and pairings, since those are technically for people to use to find fic they're interested in.  
> Other background pairings, in case it's relevant to anyone's interests: Equius/Aradia, mentioned Eridan/Feferi and Feferi -> Sollux, mentioned past John/Vriska and John/Rose.  
> Other characters: Dirk Strider, Jake English, Jane Crocker, Roxy Lalonde, Karkat Vantas, Sollux Captor, Jade Harley, Kanaya Maryam, Terezi Pyrope, Nepeta Leijon, Aradia Megido. I almost typed Theresa instead of Terezi there, phew.

“Bean bag chairs?”

“Bean bag chairs.”

“Really?”

“Leave ‘im be, Lalonde, he can put whatever he wants to in his room.”

“But it’s--”

“Ironic.”

“No way.”

“Way. Way ironic.”

“You can’t pass a bean bag chair off as ironic.”

“Watch me,” you say, carelessly flopping back into the one at your feet. Roxy looks down at you and snickers. “Why are you even trying to get on my case about this anyway, what do you have against bean bag chairs?”

“I don’t have anything against bean bag chairs,” she giggles, dropping into the one beside you. “Just not the first thing I’d expect from a guy who slept on a mattress propped up on cinderblocks for six years.”

You roll your eyes, even though she can’t see it through your shades, and sink further into the squishy pile of bean bag as you let your eyes wander around the store. You can see some of the sales associates eyeing you, like they’re not sure if maybe they’re supposed to be telling you not to fool around with the merchandise unless you intend to buy it; you can see Jane and Jake arguing over something or other, a few aisles over; and you can see your Bro, leaning against the shopping cart with an expression of indifference. The cart is the third cart your little group has had to go back for, because you are just buying way too much shit. This cart is already half full with a selection of the softest and fuzziest blankets and pillows you could find.

“Don’t you already have blankets?” Roxy asks, lazily gesturing towards them. You shrug. You have carefully laid plans for this new room of yours, and you’re not going to let her convince you there’s anything weird or wrong with any part of it. Especially since she doesn’t live with you. It’s not her problem to begin with.

“Just grab the chairs and let’s keep moving,” Bro says. He jerks his head in Jake and Jane’s direction. “Don’t want those two to get bored and start looking for trouble.”

“What else do you even still need, Strider?” Roxy lets her head loll back, the picture of relaxation. “You’ve got new shit for your kitchen, new shit for your bedroom, new shit for the kid’s bedroom.... What’s left?”

“Checking out. Unless you were gonna try to go for the five-finger discount. If that’s how you wanna roll, don’t let me stop you.”

Your name is Dave Strider, and unfortunately, you are genetically related to these morons. They are your family. They're the ones who basically raised you.

No wonder you're so fucked up.

At present you are in Who-Gives-A-Damn, Washington, shopping for furniture and like products for your new home in the nearby suburbs. You like the house. For one thing, it's one-story, unlike your "childhood home" and all the apartments you've lived in with their absolutely ridiculous amount of stairs and no elevators. You could tell where other people in the complex lived based on their fitness level; people on the lower levels were rather large, and as you went up from there, they got thinner and thinner. Between sparring Bro and climbing stairs, you have always been both physically fit and skinny as all fuck.

But you digress. You also like how big your new room is, and the bathroom with an actual _bathtub_ , and the laundry room, and the pantry. There is just something really great about all these things. It is well worth the time you had to spend living in hotels until Bro finally found it. The girls found their house, nearly identical to yours in the way suburban houses can be, right across the street. All in all, you think the move has been very successful. You also have a feeling in your gut that tells you that this could very well be your last dramatic cut-all-ties-and-get-the-hell-outta-here move.

That could be a really good thing or a really bad thing.

You don't have time to worry about it now, though. For now you are trying to help get all this shit into Jane's fuck-awful new-to-her ancient-to-society-at-large car, and it requires most of your attention.

 

Bro helps you get everything into the room, but once it's in, you're on your own. He's your brother, not your personal laborer and/or interior designer. You spend a few hours shoving things around until you're satisfied. You've set up all the normal things-- a desk, a bookshelf, dresser, bed-- plus the things that are pretty much just for you. Your turntable are tucked neatly into the corner next to your desk, and in another corner is your Pile. This is new, even for you, and you guess it's a little weird but you like it. The bean bag chairs (two of them) are buried under your new mass of fuzzy pillows and blankets. The corner is also next to a heating vent, and an electrical outlet where you can plug in your laptop. In short it's just like the best thing ever for winter in Washington. You don't doubt you'll end up sleeping here on some of the colder nights.

You go across the street to Roxy and Jane's house for dinner. You could probably get used to this, you think as you nibble at the home-cooking your favorite someday-sister-law has prepared.

"So when are we gonna tell Rosie we're in town?" Roxy slurs, making to pour herself another glass of wine. Jane surreptitiously moves the bottle. "We just gonna wait till we run 'nta her 'round town 'n' she flips a shit 'n' a half?"

“I approve of this plan,” you declare. Fucking with your sister’s mind? Sounds good to you.

“Don’t see why the hell not,” Bro shrugs. Jane groans.

“You’re all completely awful!” she huffs. “We’re going to go see them tomorrow, alright, and it’s happening if I have to get Jake to help me physically _drag you_ to her house.”

“No fun, Janey,” Roxy sighs, letting herself topple over in her seat so she lands in Jane’s lap.

“Not what we could hear you sayin’ through the walls at the hotel,” Bro says, raising both eyebrows suggestively.

Jane’s indignant, spluttering “ _Strider!_ ” is lost to the din of Jake and Roxy laughing their asses off. You and Bro share a little smirk.

Of course, you couldn’t _really_ hear the ladies getting busy. But it’s the thought that counts.

 

You wake up in your bed the next morning with no recollection of having moved there. Actually, you don’t even remember coming home. You don’t remember _finishing dinner._ Did you seriously pass out at the Crocker-Lalonde dinner table?

You look down at your clothes.

You seriously passed out at the Crocker-Lalonde dinner table.

It’s some deity’s way of telling you to get more sleep, you decide, rolling over and tugging a blanket over your head.

 

“He’s _still sleeping?_ ”

“Give ‘im a break, English.”

“It’s noon!”

“We’re all stressed as fuck and haven’t been sleeping well, okay, if the kid’s getting some goddamn decent sleep then there’s no reason to ruin that.”

“Don’t be preposterous, Strider, he’s been sleeping for the last _thirteen hours_. At the very least he needs to get some food.”

“Don’t--”

Your door swings open. You shield your face from the intruder with your blanket; nobody shall catch a Strider without his shades with such a half-assed attempt. Not even another Strider or another Strider’s boyfriend.

“Hey, English.”

“See,” Jake grumbles at your brother. “He’s already awake, anyway.”

“Morning, kid.”

“Morning, Bro. What’s up?”

“Jane wants to prance on over to the Washington-Lalondes’ house. I was gonna let you sleep through it.”

“Nah,” you sit up, still under your blanket, and stretch. “I’ll come.”

“Alright. Hurry up, then.”

You hear the door shut, quietly, presumably due to their exiting the room. You toss the blanket to the side and roll out of bed. You should probably change out of these clothes. You feel a little gross in them.

When you wander out into the living room, Bro is already pulling on his coat. You grab your own with a feeling of loss; you miss the heat of Texas. In an ironic sort of way, of course.

“Breakfast?”

“Just raid their fridge when we get there,” he says dismissively. “ _English!_ We’re leaving now!”

“Wait _up_ ,” Jake calls, sounding a little bit irritable, from somewhere in the house. You raise an eyebrow at Bro.

“Lover’s spat?”

“Fuck you,” he says.

“Thought that was his job.”

“I will kick you out on your ass, kid.”

“Noted.”

 

Jane puts the car in park, and you all stare at the two-story house you’ve parked across from. Your gut twists itself up anxiously. Bro and Roxy share a look.

“Jane, move the car further up the block,” Bro says, his voice low. “Dave, I want you to text Rose and ask her if she’s home.”

You pull out your phone.

 

turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT]

TG: hey sis

TT: Why, look who’s decided to grace me with his presence this afternoon.

TT: Pray tell, how long ago did you roll out of bed? Five minutes ago, perhaps? Or was it an entire ten minutes ago?

TG: yeah yeah fuck you too

TG: are you home right now

TT: As a matter of fact, I’m at Kanae’s house.

TT: Why do you ask?

TG: idk bro wanted to know

TG: hold on

TG: k he says good

TG: just stay there for a while

TT: That’s a little alarming.

TT: What are you boys up to?

TG: whatever it is im not in on it

TT: Can you promise to let me know if he decides to turn my house into kindling?

TG: thats definitely a thing i can do

TG: but i dont think thats it

TG: look ill

TG: ill tell you when i figure out what the fuck is going on okay

TG: i just have a really bad feeling about this

turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT]

 

“Stay in the car with Jane,” Bro orders, clicking his door open. Your head jerks up and you scowl at him.

“Why?”

“Because I fucking told you to, that’s why,” he snaps. Then he takes a deep breath. “Look, we’ll be right back out. We’re just gonna see if Ms.Lalonde is home, and if she is we’ll come get you.”

“Roxy,” Jane starts anxiously, when Roxy opens her door as well. Roxy forces a smile.

“Don’t worry, Janey, I’ll be with the boys the whole time. What could possibly happen to me?”

“English,” Bro begins, and Jake gives him a smile just as strained as Roxy’s.

“I’ve got them right here, Strider,” he says, patting his side, and oh God he’s talking about his pistols. He is definitely talking about his pistols and oh God, oh God. The three of them finish climbing out of the car, shut their doors and cross the street. You scramble through the gap between the front seats so you’re sitting shotgun. Jane is watching the others from the driver’s seat, wringing her hands in her lap.

“I don’t like this at all,” she frets, without turning away from the window. “I don’t like this at all, Dave.”

“Join the fuckin’ club,” you mutter. You try to peer around her. They must’ve gone inside. There is absolutely nothing out of the normal about the house; the rose hedges are trimmed neatly, the lawn is mowed, and the paint job has obviously been redone in recent years. It is in fact a model suburban home. But there is something about it that’s making you long to be at your brother’s side, preferably with a sword in your hand. You know that Jake is a crack shot, and there’s little chance anything will be able to get to Bro if there’s even anything there, but you don’t want to leave him to somebody else to protect. Striders are supposed to have each other’s backs, goddammit.

This, naturally, is an incredibly stupid train of thought because Bro doesn’t need any fucking protection. He’s perfectly capable of fighting his own fights. But it’s the thought that counts.

“They’re taking a while,” Jane says.

“They’ve been in there an entire two minutes, Crocker, chill out,” you say, even though your gut is churning probably just as much as hers.

“It doesn’t take that long to see if anyone’s home.”

She’s right, of course. And Rose has always said that her house is rather open and echo-y. If they’re not there the first time you call, they’re probably not there at all.

The front door swings open. You both lean forward on the edges of your seats as Bro, Jake and Roxy walk back to the car again. Roxy looks a little ill. Jake opens the door to the back seat for her, and she crawls in and lies down.

“Rox?” Jane asks, alarmed, twisting around in her seat.

“She doesn’t do well with too much blood,” Bro says, straining to keep the indifference in his voice.

“I don’t think you want to come in,” Jake adds.

“Oh, God,” Jane whispers.

“Ms.Lalonde,” you croak in horror. Bro’s mouth twitches downward at the corners. “Jesus. Jesus fuck. Fuck, what am I going to tell Rose.”

“You’re going to ask Rose if she knows how to get to the police station,” Jake says, firmly, leaning over to put a buckle over Roxy. “If she doesn’t, tell her to have somebody who does-- who she very explicitly trusts-- drive her there.”

“We can’t all fit in the car if Roxy’s lying down in the back seat,” you manage to point out. Bro shrugs.

“Gonna stay here with English and wait for the police to show up. Already called ‘em. You go with the girls--”

“No,” you interrupt, immediately scrambling to get out of the car. Bro raises an eyebrow at you. “No, I’ll. Uh. I don’t think I’m too bad with blood.”

He regards you silently for a minute. You keep your face passive. “Rose will probably need comforting,” he says at last, carefully, like he’s trying not to suggest he has any particular preference to which option you pick. You know he would rather you went with Roxy and Jane, though. The fact that you will be a legal adult very shortly has little influence on his protective instincts.

“Crocker and Roxy will have it under control,” you say. “I’ll just be the guy standing awkwardly in the corner all ‘hey, sup, just chilling in the police station--’”

“Fine,” he says. Then, “But if you faint I’m never letting you live it down.”

“Not happening, man.”

“Just contact Rose already.”

 

turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT]

TG: rose are you there

TT: Back so soon?

TT: Care to tell me how your mystery emergency went? 

TG: i dont think i should

TG: nvm lets cut to the chase

TG: do you know how to get to your local police station

TT: … Dave.

TG: dont ask questions ok

TG: just answer me

TT: I am capable of navigating myself to the local police station.

TT: However, it would take a while to get there on foot from my present location.

TG: can you get somebody to drive you

TG: somebody you really trust

TG: like with your life

TT: Dave, you are asking me things that, to be quite frank, are making me very concerned.

TT: Yes, I believe Kanae could drive me.

TT: Now will you please enlighten me as to the situation for which I will be gracing the police with my presence?

TT: At the very least, I will need to be able to tell them what I’m there for.

TG: tell them youre the lalonde kid

TG: theyll know whats up

TT: Dave, please.

TG: what the fuck do you want me to say rose

TT: I just want to know what’s going on.

TG: youll find out when you get there

TG: just

TG: please

TG: can you not argue and just trust me on this

TG: i promise youll understand later

TT: ...Alright.

TT: I suppose I can do this, if you insist. But I don’t like it at all.

TG: i get it ok

TG: im sorry

TT: I believe you.

TT: Can you entertain just one question, though?

TG: shoot

TT: Are you in Washington?

TG: thats a distinct possibility

TT: You’re most definitely in Washington.

TT: What the hell are you doing here, Strider?

TG: nope cant ask that

TG: gave you your one question

TG: question time is over now

TT: I am going to find you and do something incredibly unpleasant to you, Dave.

TT: Mark my words.

TG: cant touch this

TT: Watch me.

TG: ill watch you fail miserably

TG: get your girlcrush to drive you already

TT: Fine.

TT: I’ll talk to you later, I suppose.

TT: When everything becomes clear.

TG: k then

TG: bye sis

TT: Goodbye, brother dearest.

turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT]


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which violence occurs, and a climax is reached.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA 7/8/2015: trigger warnings for death, murder, guns, blood, and semi-graphic descriptions of injuries kind of.

“Fuckin’ shit,” you breathe.

“Pretty much,” Bro agrees, grabbing you by the collar of the shirt and pulling you back when you try to take a step closer. “Stay back, we don’t want to fuck with the evidence or whatever.”

“You didn’t mention that there was another guy,” you grumble. You bat his hand away. “Fuckin’ _shit_ that is a lot of blood.”

“Must’ve been ‘er date for the evening or something. Can’t say I know him.”

“Police might.”

“Yeah.”

 

“James Egbert,” an officer tells you, having gently turned over the still body. “I didn’t know he and Ms.Lalonde had a thing goin’ on.”

“Coulda been discussing business,” Bro grunts.

“You can believe whatever you want, but Ms.Lalonde was a scientist and Egbert worked with the CPS.”

“I see.”

“And what’s your relation to the victims again?”

“Our half-sister is Lalonde’s niece, and our other half-sister is her daughter.”

“Any idea what happened here?”

“Yeah, the other Lalondes are already down at the station talking about it with your guys.”

Another officer comes over to mutter something to the guy who’s been talking to you and Bro. The officer who’s been talking to you raises his eyebrows.

“I see. Thank you.”

The other officer leaves again.

“Were you aware that your companion was carrying a gun?”

“Guns, plural,” Bro clarifies. You roll your eyes at the stunned look on the officer’s face. “Why? Did the moron forget his license or something?”

“I, ah, no,” the officer splutters. “He did not, that is to say he had it on him, I just thought maybe--”

“I know he has guns,” Bro says. “I can also tell you right now that I know exactly where he’s been for the last twenty-four hours, have other witnesses to back me up, and he had nothing to do with this.”

“Also, those look like knife wounds,” you add, glancing at one of the bodies.

“Bullet wounds in Egbert’s chest and Lalonde’s right temple,” the officer grumbles. He takes out a notepad, jots something down. “And if you’ll pardon my lack of sugar-coating, I’m not under the impression that the knife wounds were the cause of death. They appear to be more of... a sort of torture, probably. Or dramatics, after the victims had already died.”

“No arteries cut, then?”

“Not that our guys found. Hey, kid, you doin’ alright? You look a little pale.”

“He always looks like that,” Bro deadpans.

 

The girls end up spending the night at the police station, but Jane leaves Roxy and Rose long enough to drive you, Bro and Jake home.

“Be safe,” she insists, leaning out the open car window. “Doors and windows locked, blinds drawn, weapons at easy-access--”

“Crocker,” Bro sighs. “I want you to take a deep breath and have a good, hard look at who you’re talking to.”

“Sorry,” she mumbles. “I love you guys, you know. Just don’t want anything happening to you.”

“It’s fine, Jane. We can handle ourselves for the night, and we’ll join you at the station in the morning, okay?” Jake says, soothingly. “We’ll even make Dave get up before noon for it.”

She manages a weak laugh and shifts the car into reverse. “Tomorrow morning, then. Sleep well if you sleep at all.”

“We’ll try,” Bro promises.

 

You quickly discover that the “if you sleep at all” part was not a joke. You spend several hours staring blankly at the ceiling; every time you start to doze off, you see Ms.Lalonde lying in a pool of crimson all over again, and then you’re wide awake with the taste of bile at the back of your tongue. You try switching to your pile in the corner, but it’s not any better, and for some reason you feel more vulnerable there. Sometime around two in the morning, you stagger out of your room and into the bathroom for a drink of water.

You hear a faint crash from the front entryway.

What happens next is probably the stupidest fucking thing you’ve ever done, and ever will do. It’s just that _stupid_.

Who the hell hears someone break into their house and goes to confront the perpetrator, unarmed, when there is a perfectly good shitty sword lying in plain sight two rooms over if they have the motor function to grab it?

You think, somewhere in the back of your mind, that you are going to blame it on lack of sleep. And fright. And whatever’s responsible for the fact that suddenly, you’re not directing your body to do anything at all. It’s just kind of moving itself, one foot in front of the other, silently, towards the sound of the break in.

You step into the living room. The light comes on.

You’ve never actually met your father before-- at least, not since you’ve had the capacity to remember it. He was arrested when you were just a babe, and you grew up with foster parents and Bro. You didn’t know jack shit about him until you turned thirteen, and Bro sat you down and told you the entire messy, unnerving story. Even then you didn’t ask many extra questions, and you didn’t really worry about it. You guess it never actually occurred to you that there was something out there that could hurt you when you were with Bro, that he wasn’t just the strongest fucking person in the world, until he got out of jail. Then you were thinking a lot about things that could hurt you even when you were with Bro. Especially when you were with Bro. Suddenly you were thinking about things that could hurt Bro.

(This may or may not have had an influence on your decision to directly interfere with his relationship with Jake English. In your defense, they’re both utter fucking morons and it would’ve taken months without you.)

But there’s no doubt that the man in front of you is your blood and flesh. The platinum blond hair, the cheekbones-- the amount of doubt that this guy is your father is the same amount of doubt that he’s a psychopath. He’s killed people, he’s killed Rose’s mom and he just broke into your house and now he’s smiling at you, all wide, blunt teeth in the eerie glow of the shitty lamp in your living room.

You can’t talk. You can’t _move_.

“Why, Dave,” he _croons_ across the room at you oh God this is a nightmare right please let it be a nightmare. It can’t be real. Nothing in real life is this utterly terrifying. “Is that little Davey I’m seeing? My, how you’ve grown up.”

He takes a step forward. You manage to scramble a step back.

“Stay the fuck away from me,” you choke.

“Can’t I see my sons? Why do you run away from me?” he asks you, his voice a lilting little sing-song that is just scaring the shit right out of you.

“Why the fuck do you think,” you hiss. “You... you fucking _killed_ Ms.Lalonde. That was you.”

“I just wanted to see my baby girl,” he sighs, sadly. “I wanted to see her, and Linda wouldn’t let me.”

He steps forward, you step back.

“And that _man_ who was with her,” he growls. “So impolite, trying to intrude on family affairs like that.”

“You fucking killed them,” you say hoarsely.

“I wanted the family to be together again,” he laughs. “Wouldn’t that be nice, Davey? You and me, and Dirk and the girls. Wouldn’t you like that?”

He steps forward, but you can’t step back. There are two reasons for this. One is that you are busy trying not to throw up out of absolute fucking terror. The other is that there is suddenly a warm, strong hand gripping your shoulder, a solid body behind you.

“Get the fuck out of my house,” Bro says, calmly.

“Dirk,” your father cooes. Bro silently pulls you behind him, raising his sword in a threat. “Dirk, wouldn’t you like to be a family again?”

“I don’t want shit to do with you,” Bro responds. He’s in a ready stance. “I’m telling you now, get out. If you think I won’t kill you then you’re damn wrong.”

Your father clucks his tongue disapprovingly. “You really don’t? But I’m sure Dave does. Don’t you, Dave?”

You make a strangled noise, and try to hide yourself behind your brother, which is pretty much the most ridiculous thing. You’re too tall for this shit, now, and way too old besides. But your heart is beating against your ribcage painfully as you remember Ms.Lalonde and her gentleman friend, sprawled in their own blood.

Knife wounds?

Bro’s sword has farther reach than whatever might’ve caused those, and you don’t doubt his skill besides.

Bullet wounds?

“Bro,” you try to start, but your father is already talking again.

“But you won’t let him decide for himself, will you, Dirk? Oh no, you want to keep him for yourself. You won’t let me have my family.”

“ _Bro_ \--”

“I won’t let you get in the way of my family,” he snarls, reaching into his jacket.

He pulls out a handgun.

You hear Bro’s breathing hitch. He knows he’s fucked now. You both know you’re fucked now. You can flashstep all you want, but you’re pretty sure you can’t move faster than a bullet. Your father has the upper hand. He could kill you whenever he damn well pleased and you couldn’t do anything about it.

Except he can’t. He can’t kill _you_ because Bro is standing in front of you like a human shield.

“Let Dave come to me,” he practically fucking _purrs_ , levelling the gun with Bro’s head.

“Bro, let me--”

“Don’t want to hear it, kid,” Bro mutters. He doesn’t take his eyes off your father. “Go to your room.”

“But he’ll--”

“Go, Dave.”

“ _No_ ,” you insist, trying to duck back around him. You won’t let him sacrifice himself for you, how the fuck could he do this, what the fuck is he _thinking_ \-- but he just shoves you back again.

“Trigger goes on the count of three,” your father sings.

“Bro, don’t do this,” you whisper.

“Room,” he says. “Now.”

“One...”

“What the fuck am I supposed to do without you, what the fuck do you think English is going to do, and Roxy and Jane.”

You think you might possibly be crying now. There’s something warm and wet clinging to your eyelashes and your cheeks, and you taste salt when you lick your lips. You don’t give a damn.

“I’m not letting him take you, Dave.”

“Two...”

“ _Please_ ,” you sob, yanking at the back of his shirt ineffectively. “ _Please_ , don’t you _dare_ , _Bro_ \--”

“Tell Jake I love him,” Bro mutters.

“ _No!_ ”

“Three!” your father crows, and Bro braces himself as you desperately try to tug him away from--

_Bang._

He hits the floor leaking blood.

It takes both of you-- you and Bro-- a second to register this. That the man who was pointing a gun at you is now lying face-down on the floor, bleeding from his head, and that the gunshot came from _behind_ you, not in front of you. Bro looks over his shoulder, over your head and practically fucking _sags_ with relief. You half-turn to see behind yourself.

“You,” Jake says, lowering his smoking pistol. “Are both complete fucking idiots, and if you ever scare me like that again I don’t even know _what_ in the dickens I’m going to do with you.”

 

Your name is Roxy Lalonde and you would very much like to know what the _fuck_ is going on.

You’re currently curled up in a very, very uncomfortable chair at the local police station, with your younger half-sister and cousin (the same person, mind) dozing in a similar chair beside you. You have no idea how she accomplished this, but that is not the point. The point is that she _did_ accomplish it, and now people are making far too much noise for the absolutely indecent time of morning it is. If they wake her up you swear you will flip three and a half shits. Your aunt just died and you and your family and friends are in danger and you are dealing with all of this _sober_. If somebody unravels all your hard work calming Rose down you _swear to God_...

Actually, she’s pretty deeply asleep, so that’s not your main concern. Your main concern is that you don’t know _why_ they’re throwing such a fuss, and your girlfriend does. Jane is currently pacing back and forth across the room, frequently giving the door the most unsubtle, hopeful looks you have ever seen. You are incredibly suspicious that your brothers have managed to get in trouble, somehow.

Stupid bastards, making you worry.

“Jaaaaaaaneyyy,” you whisper-whine in her direction. She stops in her tracks and gives you a nervous smile.

“What’s up, Rox?” she whispers, coming closer so you can hear each other properly.

“S’what I should be askin’ you, babe,” you murmur, reaching up to tangle a hand in her hair and drag her face down to the level of yours. Your lips are almost brushing as you ask, “what’d the boys do now?”

She laughs quietly, flushing to the tips of her ears, and tries to pull away from you. “Nothing you need to worry about, Roxy!”

You pull her back. “Totes worrying about it, Jane. You should just tell me and get it over with.”

“You can ask them when they come by in the morning,” she insists, although she allows your proximity this time.

“It _is_ morning, and there isn’t an insufferable prick in sight.”

“Don’t speak too soon,” someone drawls, softly, from the doorway. You both whip your heads around to stare as Dirk shifts the definitely-a-medical-blanket across his shoulders. Dave shuffles in behind him, draped in an identical blanket. “What’d you want to ask us, Lalonde?”

“Oh my God,” you breathe, shoving yourself out of your chair and past Jane so you can cross the room and grab your older brother’s face in your hands. You plant a firm kiss on his cheek, then seize Dave in a hug. Your suspicions are pretty much confirmed when, rather than grumbling and complaining about he’s too cool for this shit now, he hesitantly returns the embrace. “He didn’t, he didn’t--”

“He broke into our house, if that’s what you’re saying,” Dirk says, shrugging. You pull away from Dave enough to stare up at him. He’s smiling a little. It’s the stunned, tired smile of someone going into shock after not getting any sleep. “Wish you could’ve seen it, Rox, it was fucking beautiful...”

“Sit your ass down,” you order, trying not to let your voice tremble. Keeping one arm looped around Dave’s back, you take Dirk’s sleeve and lead them over to the chairs. Dirk pretty much collapses into his. Dave sort of perches, like he’s not sure what to do with himself. “Okay. _Okay_.” You take a deep breath. “He broke in and then what.”

“Stuff,” Dirk mumbles, vaguely. You can’t see his eyes well enough behind the shades to be certain, but you’re fairly certain his eyelids are fluttering shut as stress and sleep-deprivation catch up with him. “Wait fer English t’ show up, he’ll tell you...”

“Don’t fall asleep on me now, Strider, I need to--”

“Let him sleep,” Dave interrupts. He sounds like somebody scraped the insides of his throat with sandpaper. “God knows one of us should get to.”

Your heart twists a little at how _small_ he looks, hunched over with the blanket draped over him. Dave's practically a grown ass man now, taller than you are, and in this moment he looks as childish and vulnerable as he did twelve years ago. They've both got their shades on, but you can almost see the bags under his eyes underneath them. It abruptly occurs to you that you're being selfish-- they've just gone through God-knows-what in the small hours of the morning, after witnessing and being questioned about a brutal murder within the family, and here you are trying to get them to talk about it.

"Sorry," you mumble, ashamed.

"S'fine," Dave yawns, shoving his shades up so he can scrub at his eyes. Beside him, you can hear Dirk's breathing already beginning to mellow out with sleep. "Y'should try to get a little shut-eye, too."

You sink back into your chair obediently. "What about you?"

He laughs, a dry, humorous sound. "Don't think I'll be sleeping for a while yet. Don't worry, I've got Crocker to look after me."

"If you're sure, man," you slur. Suddenly you're really exhausted. You think you could pass out right here, right now in this uncomfortable police station chair and you wouldn't care. No regrets.

So you do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative summary: "In which Choc can't write drama, or violence, or the aftermath."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of little things can add up to make the end of a bad day even worse. Fortunately, the police station is apparently full of friendly strangers who're willing to help you through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not-very-graphic descriptions of people being sick ahead!  
> Chapter alternatively titled "Choc writes about people not getting enough sleep: hypocrisy at its finest".  
> ETA 7/8/2015: trigger warnings for emetophobia, discussion of death and murder, semi-graphic description of injuries. It's also plausible that Dave's narrative in this chapter could remind people of panic attacks, if you find that triggering.

You are once again Dave Strider, and the sort of buzzing numbness that overtook you when you saw Jake standing there with his gun has faded away now. Now you feel sick. You feel nauseous and dizzy and, worst of all, like you might start crying again. You aren’t going to count the cry-session earlier against yourself, because fuck it that was a _fine_ time to cry. As a matter of fact that is like the _only_ fine time to cry. Right now is not a fine time to cry in any way, if not because you’re surrounded by other people and it’s uncool, then because you have absolutely no idea _why_ you feel like leaking your emotions.

“Dave, baby,” Jane crouches next to the chair you’re in and gives you a worried smile. “I’m sure the police could get you some sleep meds.”

“Nah, ‘m good,” you rasp. She frowns and tugs at the edges of the blanket.

“You haven’t been sleeping well lately, it’s four in the morning and you haven’t slept at all tonight, and you just went through something awful. You need to rest, sweetie.”

“Don’t wanna sleep,” you grumble, childishly. You always feel like you’re seven all over again when Jane fusses over you like this.

“Why not?” she frets. “Are you worried you’ll have nightmares?”

“Nah, of course... not....” you trail off, because _completely_ against your will, you’re now thinking about what there is to have nightmares about. You’re thinking about Ms.Lalonde, slashed open with knifes, lying in her own blood, her friend in the same situation a few feet away. You’re thinking about the glint of lamplight off yellowing teeth, as he steps closer, closer... the gun trained at you... and Bro _wouldn’t fucking move_ , he wouldn’t let you do the protecting for once, he was going to fucking _die_ for you--

You shudder, violently, and then you’re retching. Jane is an expert in puking, you guess, after spending so much time with Roxy through her hangovers; you blink and there’s a garbage can in front of you. Jane snatches your shades off your face right as you lean in to empty the contents of your stomach. It’s just an acidic, absolutely disgusting mess of bile. You shudder again as your stomach muscles contract around _nothing_. There isn’t anything to throw up but stomach acid, you were too distracted to eat today, oh God this is going to suck, this is going to _suck_.

“Dave,” Jane tries to get your attention as your stomach muscles contract again, and you can see her cringe out of the corner of your eye as you dry-heave. “Dave, I’m going to get you some water and something to eat when you’re done, okay? I’ll be right back--”

“No!” you gasp, trying to grab the edge of her skirt as she makes to leave. You don’t give a damn how irrational it might be, you absolutely do not want to be alone right now. Sure, Bro and Rose and Roxy are all here, but they’re dead asleep and _fuck_. Jane strokes your hair anxiously as you lean over the can again.

You hear footsteps, a quiet, male “ah”, and then a police officer is softly asking Jane, “Is there anything I can do to help, miss?”

“Water and food,” she says promptly. “If you can’t get it yourself then send somebody else with it, please. He needs to _eat_ something.”

“With all due respect, miss--”

“--He’s like this because he hasn’t eaten all day, alright, are you going to tell me how to take care of my family?”

“... Alright, miss.”

The footsteps retreat.

“S’rry,” you mutter, not bothering to raise your head. Might as well stay in position for the next round.

“What for?” she asks, soothingly, as she runs her fingers through your hair again. “You haven’t done anything, Dave. I just wish I could trust you boys to take care of yourselves on your own.”

You grant her a hoarse chuckle, then retch again right as you can hear the door swinging open.

“Oh, gosh,” somebody says from the doorway, sounding a little startled. “I, uh-- sorry to interrupt or something? But I brought--”

“Oh, _thank you_ ,” Jane breathes, hurrying across the room. She comes back to you and nudges your head up. You glare in confusion at the cup of water she presents you with. “You’re going to get dehydrated if this keeps up, honey. You need fluids.”

You grunt your assent, taking the cup and sipping a little water. It hurts going down your abused esophagus, and you have to taste the bile all over again, but you can’t say it’s not worth it. You sip again.

“Not too fast,” Jane warns. She shows you a package. Ice-cream sandwiches? “When you’re done, you can have one of these. We need to get your blood sugar back up.”

“I’ll just throw it back up again,” you mutter, bitterly, as you sip at the water.

“Better that than nothing at all,” she says, firmly, straightening to her full height. You watch her cross the room again, and realize, with a sense of alarm, that the person who brought you water and food never _left_. He’s just been standing there, watching you in all your disgusting glory. You don’t even have your fucking _shades_ on, Jane still has them, he can see your _eyes_ \--

“Thank you very much,” Jane tells him, smiling tiredly. “I’m-- sorry you had to see that, I know it’s not very pleasant to watch but he needed--”

“No, that’s fine!” he gives her a grin. What. “Just not something I was expecting to see, you know?”

“Oh,” Jane says. She sounds a little surprised. “Um, yes. I suppose I understand.”

“What’s wrong with y-- oh, him I guess.”

You feel like a bit of a dick, having ducked down to puke right as he was trying to include you in the conversation, but some things are just necessary (you will miss that water, but it feels a lot better throwing up _something_ ).

“He hasn’t eaten today,” Jane sighs, with a sort of motherly exasperation. “At all.”

“Hehe, that would do it.”

“Has it happened to you before, then?”

“Yeah, at camp once. It sucked, though, because we were supposed to go to a water park the next day and I was too busy throwing up! But don’t worry, man,” he must be talking to you again, there’s something about Jane that stops anybody from referring to her that way even in their most distracted moments. “If you eat something when your stomach settles a little, you should be good. You’re just low on blood-sugar.” 

“I’ll _fuck_ try,” you choke as the most recent round of retching subsides. You look up at him again. He doesn’t look any older than you, but he doesn’t look too much younger, either. He’s got messy black hair, buckteeth (you can see them when he smiles, which appears to be _all the time_ ), and wired-framed lenses over some of the bluest eyes you have ever seen in your life. Although... that _could_ just be because you’ve never made eye contact with anyone but your Bro and Roxy sans shades before.

You don’t have time to dwell on this, because then he’s coming closer, chattering at you. “So, hey, you’re here with Jane? What’s your name?”

“Dave Strider,” you say. You grab your cup and take another sip of water. “‘N’ yerself?”

“John Egbert,” he says, offering you another throwaway grin and his hand. You shake it, then the implications crash down on you.

Egbert.

As in James Egbert.

“Oh,” your mouth starts going, before you have time to filter your thoughts _shit_ , “You’re the other guy’s kid.”

To your utter relief, he doesn't completely break down or even really lose the smile. He just sits himself down in the chair next to yours. "Oh, you've met my dad then? I didn’t realize he was here!"

They haven't told him yet. What the fuck.

"Do you... know what you're doing here?" you ask, carefully, as you sip at your water a little more. John shakes his head.

"Not really! They called me and my sister," _my sister and I_ , you think, then _dammit Crocker get out of my brain_ , “Up here earlier-- well, I guess yesterday evening! And all the officers are being super nice, it's kind of making me nervous. But it's probably just something dumb, like Kar got in a fight again and they know I'll post his bail. Though I guess I don't know why they'd call Jade here too if it's that. What are you here for? Are you with Rose?"

“Family shit,” you say. Then you blink. “You know Lalonde?”

“Oh, yeah,” he laughs, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “We’ve know each other for... a long time! We went out for a while in middle school, even. What about you?”

“I’m her--” you lurch forward before you can finish, because apparently having a civil conversation without vomiting is just too much to ask for. Your throat burns as you lose all the water you just drank. “ _Goddammit_. Sorry, dude.”

“It’s fine,” he assures you. “I think Jane went to get you some more water, so just sit tight, okay?”

“Yeah,” you mumble, letting yourself slump back in your chair with your eyes closed. “God today sucks. What time is it even?”

“Um...” John looks around for a clock, then eventually gives up and just pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. “It’s like four-thirty AM.”

You groan instead of responding properly. You’re tired and stressed and miserable. You’re so tired and stressed and miserable that you don’t even care that a stranger is seeing you like this without even your shades to hide just how weak and pathetic you are.

“Dude,” John shakes your shoulder a little. “Have you slept at _all_ tonight?”

“What d’you _think_ ,” you moan, curling up into the chair.

“Wow, first you don’t eat all day and now you’re trying for an all-nighter, this is just like the best survival technique.”

“Hells yes it is,” you mutter. “Look at me, surviving my ass off.”

“More like surviving your throat out,” he laughs, grabbing the cup of water and forcing it into your hand. “Here, look, drink this, nibble at an ice cream sandwich and then we’ll figure out how to get you unconscious, okay?”

“Didn’t yer parents ever teach you not to spend too much time talking to strangers?” you ask. You take a tiny sip of the water. He shakes his head.

“I trust Rose’s taste in friends,” he says. “Besides, you’re not exactly in any position to be pulling off any shenanigans right now! I’d be more afraid of a kitten.”

“Kittens are fucking vicious little beasts,” you vow, and he laughs again.

“Oh, man, have you met Rose’s cat? She’s just the cutest thing, all fuzzy and sweet and adorable.”

“Rose has a cat?” She probably got it just to spite you. You wouldn’t put it past her. You can’t stand cats.

“Yeah, she named it-- well, doesn’t matter what she named it, we call her Mutie.”

“Short for what.” You down the rest of the water, and he takes the glass with a lopsided grin.

“Doesn’t matter, dude, don’t worry about it.”

“Fine, I’ll worry about something else. Why the hell isn’t Crocker back yet?”

“Crocker as in Jane?” he peers back towards the doorway. “I dunno! I think I can hear her talking in the other room, though, she’s probably just getting held up.”

“Mmn.”

You haven’t regurgitated the water yet. You’re taking it as a good sign. John unwraps an ice cream sandwich and hands it to you. As instructed, you nibble at the end a little, tentatively moving on to larger bites. He stands and your head immediately jerks up to track the movement.

“Where are you going?” you ask, panicked, before you can stop yourself.

“I just thought I’d get you some more water,” he says, looking bewildered. “I mean-- Jane said--”

“She’s already getting some,” you insist. You don’t even know why you’re so desperate for company right now, you just feel like it would be _really bad_ if he left you alone with your thoughts.

“Do you not want me to leave?” he ventures hesitantly.

“Yes that’s what I’m trying to say, something like that.” You reach up with one hand to run it through your hair in distress. “I’m just... Fuck it, I’m not in a good place right now and I don’t know why but I _don’t want to be alone right now_. You don’t have to stay but could you at least--”

“No way, you’re stuck with me now,” John interrupts with a bright smile. Something in the back of your mind absently notes that with the buckteeth, this is absolutely fucking adorable. You think you’re going to go ahead and chalk that one up to sleep depravation. “Forever and ever.”

“And ever and ever?” you deadpan.

“And ever and ever and ever,” he agrees.

You finish your ice cream sandwich without upchucking again. Achievement unlocked, you think, nestling yourself into the chair as comfortably as you can manage. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch John moving, but you’re too tired to do anything about it when it probably doesn’t have anything to do with you anyway except wait there is something warm and soft on you now, hm that’s nice. You peer up at him, standing over you, from under a pile of fabric. He snorts.

“No, stop looking at me like that, that’s just not fair okay.” He leans down to tug it to cover you a little more. “There, isn’t that better?”

It occurs to you that he wasn’t in short sleeves before. Short sleeves is a new development. “...Did you just give me your sweater?”

“You looked all cold and miserable, huddled in on yourself like that,” he shrugs, sitting down again. “I’ve lived in Washington my whole life, so it’s no big deal. I’m not that cold.”

“How do you know _I_ haven’t lived here my whole life?” you challenge. He rolls his eyes.

“If you’d lived here all your life you wouldn’t be wearing only a shirt, smartass,” but it’s a _long-sleeved_ shirt, at least. “Also, everyone knows everyone around here, and I’ve never met you before in my life.”

“Fair point,” you concede.

“Just stop talking and go to sleep, Dave, you look awful.”

“You don’t know me, maybe I always look like this.”

“Dave.”

You grimace. “I don’t think I can.”

“Whiner. Okay hold on a second,” he scrambles to his feet and makes for the door. You make a noise of protest, and he pauses to give you a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry I’m just grabbing something, I’ll be _right_ back. Thirty seconds tops!”

He’s gone before you can make a substantial objection. You immediately shrink into the chair, but it’s too late; you’re already oversensitive to every little noise and movement in the room. It’s no wonder Bro was willing to move across the country twice in an effort to keep you away from that guy-- look at what meeting him has done to you. You’re kind of taking an acrobatic fucking pirouette off the handle here. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to bury your face in your knees, but John’s sweater is in the way. You take a deep breath, and the unfamiliar smell clears your head a little. There’s nothing wrong, you’re safe in the police station, Bro and the girls are right here and everything’s going to be fine, it’s fine, he can’t hurt you now he’s dead it’s alright. It’s alright.

You still flinch when the door creaks open and shuts quietly. Footsteps hurry across the room to you, stop right in front of you, and just wait for a second. Then John hesitantly whispers, “You still awake?”

“Yeah,” you mumble into the fabric of his sweater.

“Oh. Darn. Okay, here,” he tugs your head up a little, and slides something over your ears. You reach up to feel it questioningly. Headphones? “I’m going to put on the music, and you just try to relax, sound like a plan?”

“Yeah,” you mumble again. He fiddles with the iPod the headphones are connected to for a moment, then settles himself in the chair beside you once more as the music starts to play. To your surprise, it’s nothing terrible. It’s actually pretty decent music, especially for sleep-- a quiet, classical piano piece. It’s low and slow and sweet, and you let your eyelids flutter shut as it washes over you. You vaguely wonder whatever happened to Jane, but that’s not important right now. You’re sure she’s fine, and you’re not alone. You barely know this kid, but he’s taking care of you like you’ve been best friends for your whole life, and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t pretty fucking nice. So you guess you’re alright that he’s the only one awake to watch over you when you finally manage to drift into a blissful, heavy slumber.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which it is realized that animals still have needs, even when you are having an emotional crisis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA 7/8/2015: trigger warnings for discussion of death and murder.

When you wake up the next morning, somebody's put a blanket over you, your shades are in your lap, and John is dead asleep beside you, his head resting awkwardly against your shoulder. Your legs are horribly cramped, but you can't bring yourself to move and potentially disturb him. His weight is warm and comforting at your side. It kind of makes you want to just fall asleep again. You're halfway there when Jake peers into the room.

"Morning," he whispers, giving you a small smile as he crosses the room to crouch by your chair. "Feeling better?"

"Think so," you mumble back. You slide your shades over your eyes. “Tired as all fuck, but at least ‘m not hacking up the contents of my stomach every two minutes.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yes, Jane might have mentioned that in passing. She’s going to be monitoring your food intake today, I hope you’re aware.”

“Why the hell is she doing that?” you protest, barely remembering to keep your voice down.

“So we don’t have a repeat performance, obviously.” He gives you a withering look, one you have, over the course of a lifetime, come to identify as the “why are you Striders so god-awful at taking care of yourselves” look. “I see you made a friend.”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess. Maybe,” you glance down at John’s head. You’re not exactly sure what being friends entails-- you don’t think you’ve had a friend who wasn’t your relative or their significant other since you were eight. You just don’t like most people. You think you like John, though, if you can trust your own judgement from when you were sleep deprived and sick.

“One of Egbert’s kids?” Jake asks, softly. You nod, slowly, as a sort of twisted empathy curls in your gut.

“They haven’t told him yet,” you mutter.

“I know,” Jake says. “I talked to his sister last night, and she didn’t know either.”

“Did you tell her?”

“Did you tell _him?_ ”

No. No, you didn’t, how the fuck could you. _Hey dude, thanks for being so nice and helping me while I was flipping the fuck out, by the way your dad was brutally murdered the other day._ Yeah, no. Not happening.

“When’re the police gonna tell them?”

“Later this morning,” Jake checks his phone. “It’s about eight-thirty now. Roxy will be returning with breakfast soon.” He pats your knee and rises. “I’m needed for more interrogation, but don’t be afraid to give a shout if you need anything! Look after your sister.”

“Can do,” you promise him. He gives you a little grin and leaves. A few chairs over, you can see Rose stretching out of the corner of your eye. Sneaky broad was probably awake the entire time.

“Strider,” she says, voice clear of sleep. You were _right_.

“Lalonde,” you return indifferently. “Sleep well?”

“I daresay I took enough sleep medication that if it had not qualified as ‘sleeping well’ I should have been very put out.” She hops out of her chair and comes to stand in front of you, arms crossed. “I was under the impression you were staying elsewhere for the night.”

“Yeah, well, shit happened,” you shrug. She raises both eyebrows.

“What kind of shit happened?”

“As much as I’d love to spin you the magnificent tale of all the shit that transpired while you were taking a drugged nap,” she grimaces, and you mentally pat yourself on the back. “I’m hungry and tired, so go find Bro and ask him.”

“Bro ran off to get something thirty minutes ago.”

“And you’ve just been sitting there watching me sleep since then. Wow, Lalonde. Just wow.”

She rolls her eyes, reaches down and plucks John’s headphones from around your neck, idly looping the cord up neatly the same way you’ve seen her do with her yarn, when she knits. “If I’d realized you and John were going to take such a shine to each other, I would’ve introduced you sooner. Invited him to New York a few times, perhaps.”

“I don’t think there was much shining about it,” you tell her, just before you remember that she’ll take that as a cue to interrogate you.

“Do go on,” she purrs, leaning down so your faces are on the same level.

“There’s nothing to go on about,” you grumble. And although you are lying through your teeth, and you know Rose knows you are, you aren’t certain you want to tell your younger sister-- this pretty, cynical little creature-- that her friend probably just stuck around out of some kind of pity. Pity for the poor guy in the police station with family problems, who was hurling because he hadn’t taken the time to take care of himself.

“That’s alright,” she says, giving you a smug little smile. “He’ll tell me when he wakes up.”

“What the fuck ever,” you scoff. She perches in the chair next to you, the smile gradually fading from her face as you both silently lapse back into your own thoughts. You only focus on her again when you catch her playing with the hem of her skirt in an incredibly un-Rose-like fashion. “... Shit.”

She looks up with one eyebrow raised. “What’s wrong, left the stove on?”

“Ha ha ha,” you deadpan. You carefully slip one arm out from under the blanket to wrap around her shoulders, pressing your sides together in some sort of awkward hug. “I’m sorry, sis.”

“It’s not your fault, Dave,” she whispers (you’re not surprised she caught on right away). “I mean... she should have been more careful.”

“But we could have warned you that he was on the move,” you insist.

“What would that have helped?” she murmurs, resting her head against your upper arm. “We aren’t... weren’t as flexible as you are. We couldn’t have picked up everything to leave at the first sign of trouble.”

She takes a deep, shuddering breath, and admits, muffled into your sleeve, “I knew-- I knew she’d probably be the one who met their end badly, in the whole ordeal. Because she was always so desperate to pretend it wasn’t a problem for us, like he wouldn’t remember us up in Washington.”

“Just ‘cause you saw it coming doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck,” you sigh.

“Right,” she laughs, bitterly. “Right. Yes. Yes, it most certainly sucks.”

A beat of silence.

“But losing-- losing her isn’t the worst part,” she says. “When Mr.Egbert tried to protect her-- now John and Jade have been dragged into it, too, he’ll know somehow. And he’s still _out_ there, while we’re going to be trying to figure out what do with ourselves he’ll be--”

“Nah,” you allow yourself a small laugh as you interrupt her.

She pulls away to give you a cross, confused look. “ _What?_ ”

“Nah,” you repeat. “He’s not still out there, not anymore.”

She’s dead silent for a moment. Then she says, very, very slowly, “When you say _shit happened_ last night...”

“I mean serious shit went down,” you confirm.

“I would like to request that I am informed of these event immediately,” she says. You open your mouth, smartass response prepared, and she intones warningly, “ _Dave_...”

“Okay, geez, calm your tits.” She hits you. “Ow. Alright, he broke into the house at like two in the morning and I’m a dumb shit so I went to check it out without my sword, Bro showed up armed, he pulled out a gun and said he’d shoot if Bro didn’t surrender me, Bro tried to pull some stupid self-sacrificial shit so English just shot the guy right as he was about to pull the trigger. And then he dragged us over here because we were in shock or something.”

Rose just stares at you.

You raise both of your eyebrows and stare back.

“Who the hell is ‘English’ and what was he doing in your house at two in the morning?” she finally asks. You realize, belatedly, that Rose has never met Jake. Actually, you’re not sure she’s ever even heard anything about him. You have no idea how much you should tell her versus letting Bro tell her.

“That’s not important. The important part is that he’s _dead_ , Rose, we don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

“I know, that’s why I’ve moved on to worrying about the occupants of your house,” she says dryly. You wonder if she just can’t comprehend that it’s _over_ , so she’s giving it time to sink in before she thinks about it any more. “Was he the young man who was talking to you earlier?”

“That’s a distinct possibility,” you admit.

“And he knows Roxy and Jane, as well,” she narrows her eyes. “Is he a _permanent_ occupant of your house?”

“Maybe, maybe not.” She makes to hit you again, but you duck this time. You accidentally jostle John in the process, and freeze when he stirs; he just mumbles a little and settles back against you again, however, and you bat Rose’s hand away when she tries to catch you off guard. “Violence is not the answer, Lalonde.”

“I’m just going to ignore the hypocrisy of that statement. But you are correct, the answer should be a clear yes or no.”

“Well would you look at that, it wasn’t.”

“Do you remember my promise to do something extraordinarily unpleasant to you, Strider? I could make that happen.”

“Rose, Rose, Rose,” you shake your head. “I know, protégé psychologist that you may be, you have trouble comprehending the idea that you might not know something, but it is just something you will have to learn to deal with.”

“Unpleasant things. I will make them happen.”

“Fuck this,” Roxy says, and you both turn to stare at her. She’s standing in the doorway with her arms full of take-out bags. “I’m too sober to deal with you two right now.”

You and Rose have to spend the next ten minutes begging her not to walk off with breakfast.

 

Eventually, John wakes up and his sister comes in, so they join you and your sisters in an ironic game of Go Fish. You’re sitting around the pile in a circle on the floor. When you hear the door click, you assume it’s Bro except the entirety of what you catch when you look up is a huge, _snarling_ white blur that is coming _right at you._

You flashstep back to the chairs, crouching in one as the fucking devilbeast skids on the space of tile floor you occupied five seconds ago. Roxy screams and scrambles out of the way, but John, Jade and Rose only seem mildly surprised. Or in Jade’s case, mildly surprised and... angry?

“Bad dog, Becquerel!”

“That’s a _dog?_ ” Roxy squeaks in disbelief. Rose shrugs.

“He is rather large, I suppose. But yes.”

“More like a fucking albino bear,” you mutter, watching him warily from your chair as he lazily trots back to his apparent mistress’ side. Jade tweaks one of his ears and quietly scolds him. Jake laughs sheepishly from the doorway.

“Apologies, Dave-- if I’d have thought, I would have kept a better hold on him...”

“No apologies for me?” Roxy juts out her lip and flutters her eyelashes. Bro leans around Jake to wave a long paper bag in her direction.

“I’m not apologizing for _jack shit_ after what I had to do to convince the police to let me bring you booze. Take it or leave it.”

While Roxy showers him with praise, cradling her gift to her chest like a goddamn baby, Jake tosses you a ring of keys. You raise your eyebrow as you look at one of the keychains. “‘Property of Linda Lalonde’?”

“We’re trying to get all the animals taken care of,” Jake says. “You need to go find Rose’s cat.”

“I’m not sure I’m alright with this plan,” Rose interjects, still sitting neatly on the floor. “Not that I don’t trust my beloved brother, but I’m rather fond of that cat, and I would hate for anything unfortunate to happen to her.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, there’s nothing Dave would do to your stupid ball of fur that I’m not going to do later anyway,” Bro says. He gestures vaguely towards the room behind him. “Whoever has the salamander, it’s with Jane right now, you should probably go save it from her because I really don’t think she has a clue what the fuck to do with it.”

“Casey!” John cries, scrambling to his feet and weaving between Jake and Bro on his way out. You toss the keys up and down absentmindedly. Rose is trying to stare you down and it’s not working, as usual.

“Fine,” she sighs. She stands and comes to stand in front of you, arms crossed over her chest. “I will permit such Strider-cat interaction on the premise that I am allowed to supervise.”

“Alright, whatever, let’s get this over with,” you say, tucking the keys into your pocket.

 

“This is arcane wizardry. You have been practicing arcane wizardry on your cat. There isn’t any other goddamn explanation for it.”

“What about the explanation where there is simply just no resisting Mutie’s charms?” Rose asks, smugly, watching as you let her cat roll about in your lap, kneading your jeans with little kitten claws and purring away like a tiny motorboat. It’s just _wrong_. You _hate_ cats, you hate everything about them from their claws to the noises they make to the shedding to their fucking aloofness. You have never met a cat you liked. Ever. The way that this cat is worming her fuzzy little way into your heart is fucking _unnatural_. It goes against the laws of the universe. _Striders, thou shalt not liketh cats_.

“They’re taking a while in there,” Rose adds, more gently, after a moment. You follow her gaze to where it’s trained on the door, and your gut twists in ways you can’t identify.

They’d decided to tell the Egbert kids while you were gone.

“There’s a fuckton to explain,” you say. Mutie mewls, batting at your hand, and you distractedly scratch behind her ears. “So eager to see your friends’ hearts broken, Lalonde?”

“Where are they going to go?” she asks, instead of answering. You shrug.

“Depends on where they got relatives, I guess.”

“Where am _I_ going, then, brother darling?” Her eyes narrow.

“Crocker-Lalonde household, obviously,” you roll your eyes even though she can’t see it through the shades. “Unless you’d rather live with a house full of boys.”

“I think I’ll have to pass.” She leans over with a smirk. “It was uncharacteristically sweet of you to offer, however.”

She pecks you on the cheek before you can stop her, so you make do with wiping it off dramatically. “What nonsense are you talkin’, Lalonde, I’m sweet as fuckin’ sugar.”

“Oh, indeed, just being around you for an extended period of time carries the threat of cavities. I’ll have to schedule a visit to the dentist.”

At that moment, the door creaks. Jane slides out without opening it enough to let you peek inside, but you can hear someone sobbing desperately in the other room before she has a chance to close it. When she does, she turns to you, looking sorrowful. Rose cringes.

“John-- John gives you his sincere apologies for your loss, Rose,” Jane murmurs. Your sister sinks back into her chair, covering her face with her hands.

“That fucking _idiot_ ,” she says, but she sounds like she might cry. “God, can’t he think of himself for once.”

You reach over to awkwardly pat her on the shoulder. She responds by climbing over your chair arms to sit in your lap ( _Mutie leaps to the floor_ ) and bury her face in your shirt. You give Jane a horrified, pleading look-- _help me how do I help her what do I do_ \-- but she just shakes her head, sadly, and gives you a knowing stare as she leans down to pick up the fleeing cat. _She just needs your comfort right now_.

So you wrap your arms her and mumble something vaguely reassuring, and try not to flip the fuck out over the fact that maybe you can feel the spot where her eyes are pressed against the cloth growing damp. _God if Jake hadn’t already killed him you’d hunt it down and do it yourself, who the hell was he to make Rose cry_ except you know you wouldn’t. If you could do that, if you were fucking brave enough to do that you would’ve done it last night. But you couldn’t. Even replaying the encounter in your head, now, your gut twists itself into a mass of terror and sickness. You take a deep breath, squeezing Rose to you a little more closely. _It’s alright he’s gone. He’s gone._

Some small part in the back of your brain wonders if Jake is doing alright in getting the homicide-in-the-name-of-self-defense shit by the police.

“Where are Roxy and Bro and Jake?” you ask, ignoring the way your voice nearly cracks midway through the sentence. Jane shrugs.

“Roxy is still in there with the Egbert children, Jake is confirming the legality of his actions,” that answers that question then, “And Dirk is off doing, well, who knows what. Maybe he decided to be a beautiful person and walk the Egberts’ dog for them.”

Rose manages a disbelieving snort, and raises her head from your shirt to look at Jane with eyes that manage to imply skepticism even when they’re watery and bloodshot. “I find difficulty in believing that Becquerel would allow anyone who was not Jade or John to lead him around on a mere strip of leather.”

The door to the other room creaks open before you or Jane can think of a suitable response. John slips out, closely followed by his sister, who is sniffling tearfully and has a vicegrip on his hand; Roxy is right behind them. You watch as she walks straight past all of you, pulling out her cell phone and slipping into the next room. It’s very suspicious, you think. But now is not the time to wonder what sort of bullshit drunken shenanigans your older sister may or may not be getting up to. Now is the time to monitor your younger sister as she disentangles herself from you, rises from the chair, and spreads her arms in the offering of a hug. Jade immediately lets go of her brother to pretty much _throw_ herself at Rose, whimpering and blubbering into her shirt in the most heart-wrenching display you never wanted to see. John sits in the chair next to you. You glance over at him to see his jaw clenched, and you’ve only known him for less than a day but he just looks _wrong_ without that ridiculous grin plastered on his face. You nudge him a little with your elbow.

“You...” wait, what are you doing. You don’t know how to comfort anyone no stop talking. “You alright, dude?”

“Yeah,” he says. His voice comes out pretty strained. “Yeah, I’m... fine. I’m fine. Just worrying about where Jade and I are gonna go, I guess.”

“Relatives?” you suggest, a little doubtfully.

“We don’t have any, not that we know about. They’ll tell us when they look at the will.” He offers you a tiny, forced smile. “I’m sure it’ll all work out, though! I mean, my eighteenth birthday’s only a few months away, so it’s not like they’re gonna try to throw me in foster care.”

 _You’d be surprised_ , you don’t say because god _dammit_ you have some tact. Instead, your mouth starts running before you have a chance to filter it.

“You can stay with us,” you say.

He stares at you. “What?”

“Just,” you are grateful  that you are a master of the pokerface, because otherwise you would probably be nervous or some uncool shit like that. Where did the filter between your brain and your mouth go. “Until you figure out what the hell to do. Be better than sleeping here, although here you’ve got these perfectly goddamn great chairs to crash in. More comfortable than sleeping in a fucking pile of kittens and baby rabbits and clouds, I know.”

“Oh, yes, nothing could ever surpass these chairs in comfort, Dave,” he snorts. Then he looks a little hesitant. “Could we really? I mean, won’t your... actually I don’t know anything about your family, but won’t they mind?”

You try to think of any objections Jake and your Bro will have to this plan, since it is, apparently, a real thing that might actually happen, even though you just started saying things without really thinking about them. You’re not coming up with any legitimate no-he-can’t-stay complaints. Hell, they might even be pleased that you’ll have to interact with someone new on a regular basis.

“Nah. They’ll be cool with it.”

“Jade too?” he presses.

“I don’t know if she would be able to handle all the testosterone,” you deadpan. “But yeah. If that’s what you want we could probably work something out.”

“Gosh, I,” John laughs, just a little, and it barely sounds forced this time. “Wow. That’s. That’s really nice of you. Are you really sure? I mean we just met this morning and--”

“What are you two talking about over there?” Rose interrupts. You look to see her with one arm still around a substantially less tearful Jade.

“Uh, we were just talking about where Jade and I were gonna go while things got sorted out,” John says before you can feed her any bullshit. Jade’s eyes widen, like that hadn’t been a thing she had thought about yet. At all ( _You don’t blame her, you are kind of surprised that John just came out of a room where they told him his father had been murdered and is already onto thinking about the practical side of things_ ). “But don’t worry, Jade, we came up with something!”

“Did you now,” Rose drawls, raising both eyebrows in your direction.

“Yeah, Dave says we can stay at his house for a while.”

“Perfectly fucking reasonable idea,” you manage to say, quickly, but it’s too late; Rose and Jane are already staring at you like you’ve announced that you’re a merman, and you intend to return to the underwater kingdom of which you are the only true rightful heir.

“David, did you perhaps hit your head in the encounter last night?” Rose asks, carefully. You cross your arms defiantly.

“Fuck off, Lalonde, can’t a dude offer help to another dude in need without people questioning his mental health?”

“I think it’s a good idea,” Jane says, in the soothing tone of voice she reserves strictly for keeping Striders and Lalondes from murdering each other. “Although I’m not sure Jade would like to be surrounded by boys twenty-four-seven. What do you think, Jade?”

“Oh,” Jade squeaks, looking rapidly between John and Jane. “I, um. Gosh I don’t know!!! I don’t want to be separated from John though so um. I’ll stay with him.”

“You could stay with Rose, Roxy and I,” Jane suggests. “We just live right across the street from the boys. You could still see John whenever you’d like but you wouldn’t be stuck with the Striders--” you put a hand over your heart in mock offense-- “and their ridiculous shenanigans. But you can do whichever you’d prefer. It’s up to you, sweetie.”

Jade fidgets in place, spending a long stretch of silence playing with the ends of her hoodie’s sleeves and staring at her shoes (bright red with white strips of velcro). Finally, she gives John a hesitant look. He smiles at her as brightly as he can.

“I don’t mind whichever you pick, sis! It’s totally okay if you would feel more comfortable staying with Rose. The most okay.”

“I’ll do that then,” Jade mumbles, leaning into your sister. “As long as. I mean. You’re going to have to let Bec come too!”

“Oh gosh, the pets,” John gasps. “I completely forgot about them! I need to get the rest of Casey’s stuff from home.”

“Okay, seriously man, how much shit can you possibly have for one salamander,” you say. It’s not even a question. The look he gives you cuts off all further mockery you might have prepared, so instead you add, “Dibs cat.”

“David, Vodka Mutini is _my_ cat and I will not stand for any attempts to steal her away,” Rose warns you. Jade giggles a little.

“Actually I don’t think Bec really likes cats, so it might be better that way?”

“Well damn,” Roxy says from the doorway. “We’re going to have to dissuade that stray that’s been coming by all the time.”

“Oh, good,” Jane sighs, sounding pleased. “I hate that thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can't escape GCat, Jane. It just won't ever happen.  
> Sorry this chapter took a while, I had a spell of writers block. Hopefully the next chapter will come along more quickly!  
> As always, concrit is very greatly appreciated.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The transferring of items and how Dave forgot what day it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I make a random music recommendation, because I wrote large sections of this chapter listening to The Wanted and I think everyone should go check them out.  
> By the way, guys, if you want to suggest side pairings for this, please be my guest! The only pairings in this that are set in concrete are the alpha kids and Dave/John. Even Rose/Kanaya could be subject to change if a lot of people wanted to see something else!  
> ETA 7/8/2015: trigger warnings for brief mention of death, and a little ableist language on Dave's part.

After a late lunch (more take out), the afternoon is devoted to the moving of things. Obviously, there isn’t enough room in either house for the new housemates to take _everything_ with them, but they still have to grab enough clothes and shit for it to take several hours. Of course, most of that time is probably spent in transit, because when you show up at the Egbert’s place, they both know exactly what they’re going to take already. It’s like they had emergency apocalypse plans or something.

Nobody is too thrilled about going back to the Lalondes’ house, but at least it’s been cleaned up as well as could be done without replacing the blood-stained wooden floor (tactfully covered with a carpet that you doubt has Lalondian origins). You escort Rose between her room and the front entryway, at her request; apparently your presence is reassuring. You’re alright with this. You also appreciate the carpet, because when you can’t see the blood stains, it’s harder for your mind to put the bodies there to haunt you. You’re glad that Rose and the Egbert kids never actually saw them.

The main problem with the whole ordeal ends up being the part where Jane’s car can only take five people, and that’s when the seats aren’t covered with boxes and buckets and baskets of clothes, school supplies and random shit. Jake, Bro and Roxy stay home, but you and John still give up your seats in the car, instead walking to and from their houses and your house. The ladies pretend to swoon when you insist.

“Such gentlemen,” Rose drawls, and Jade giggles uncontrollably.

You’re making your final trek home, arms loaded with bags, John in a similar state behind you, when he says quietly, “Can I ask you something?”

“Just did,” you snort. He laughs and kicks at you, then laughs harder when you almost trip, swearing at him. “Shoot.”

“Your older sister... uh, Roxy? She said... that it was your dad who. You know.”

Shades are just one of the most beautiful inventions. It's nice not having the twisted sense of terror you feel thinking about this broadcasted to the world via your eyes. “What about him?”

“Is he... still out there?” John asks, in a small voice. You hear the unspoken companion question-- _is he going to come for_ us, _too?_

“No,” you say, and revel in the way it eases the tension in your own gut. “No. He’s been taken care of.”

John smiles a little, clearly relieved, before his brow furrows, and he wonders, “Is that why you were at the station, too?”

_Trigger goes on three!_

“Yeah,” you mutter, looking straight ahead as you try to force the echoes out of your memory. “Something like that.”

You walk in silence for about a block, and then John asks, (in a way that makes you admire his ability to just get straight to the point) “Is he dead?”

“Sure what the paramedics thought.”

“Oh, good,” he says. Then hurriedly backtracks, “I mean it’s not good that you had to kill him, but it’s good that we don’t really have to worry about-- you know-- _ugh_. You know what I’m trying to say, dude.”

You can’t help but snicker a little. You nudge his shoulder with yours. “Calm down, bro. You have every right to wish him dead. God knows everyone else did.”

“Because he killed a lot of people or because he was a douchebag?”

“The first one. Wait the second works too. Hell, all of the above, he was a homicidal psychopathic jackass.”

You turn up onto your front walkway and kick at the door; if it opens, great, if not then Bro or Jake will come to open it for you so you _stop kicking the goddamn door, Dave, put the shit you’re carrying down and open it with your hands like a normal person._ To your vast disappointment, it opens. You lead John inside, kick the door shut again, and head into your room. You both drop your armloads into the Pile of John’s Stuff that has been accumulating in the middle of your room all afternoon. You start shifting things around in your closet-- you wonder what size clothes he wears, because if he’s your size then you doubt it’ll take very long before you start accidentally wearing his shit, no matter how hard you try to keep your clothes separate. You try to glance back at him as stealthily as possible, then realize you both have such terrible posture it’s impossible to tell if you’re actually too much taller than him.

“Hey, Egbert, what size are your clothes?”

“Hm? Oh, uh, hold on a second...” he bends to fish through the Pile of John’s Stuff. You roll your eyes and cross the room to grab him by the back of the collar, twisting it inside out. He yelps. “What the hell, man?”

“I’m just checking the tag on your shirt, dude, calm the fuck down,” you mumble. He grumbles but stays still until you let go of the fabric.

“Well?”

“Same size.”

“And?” he huffs expectantly.

“And I’m probably going to accidentally mix our stuff up all the time, unless you are the god of organization descended from the heavens above,” you inform him. He rolls his eyes.

“It’s not really that big of a deal. So what happens, we accidentally do each others’ laundry, maybe end up wearing the wrong shirts once in a while?”

You shrug. “If it’s cool with you it’s cool with me.”

You spend a few minutes working together in silence; you try to shove your stuff to the side to give him as much room as possible, and he tries to make all of his stuff fit with a little room to spare, for reasons you are not entirely sure of. You’re just kind of absentmindedly sorting through your shirts (some of them are too small now, you can get rid of them to make more room) when you say, without really thinking about it,

“Just a fair warning, if you’re homophobic or something this will probably not be the best place for you.”

There is a loud _crash_ behind you. You turn to raise an eyebrow at John as he scrambles to right the box he knocked over. He laughs, a little awkwardly.

“That was kind of out of the blue, dude!”

“Yeah, well.” You toss the shirt in your hands onto your bed with the rest of the too-small shirts. You don’t even know how to finish your sentence. It was a thing that needed to be said, sure, but that doesn’t mean you have any goddamn clue how to deal with the conversation after the saying of the thing has happened.

“Don’t worry,” he assures you. “I’m cool with it. I, uh, kind of already figured out Jane and Roxy were a thing. And I guess you’re saying your brother and Jake are, too? And I already knew about Rose wait _shit_.”

You snicker. “What about Rose, now?”

He throws a pair of socks at your head. You duck. “Nothing you need to worry about, forget I ever said anything. Geez, I’m such a fucking moron.”

“Are you telling me my sister is less than heterosexual? I’m shocked,” you drawl, flopping back onto your bed mindless of whatever shirts you land on top of. “Never would’ve guessed, you know.”

“Shut uuuup,” he groans. He stuffs one last thing into the dresser, slides it shut, then flops down alongside you. “You can’t tell her I told you. She’ll kill me.”

“Egbert, I’ve been making fun of Rose for her girlcrush on Kanae Maryam for the last four years,” you deadpan. He blinks in surprise. “It’s really fucking obvious. If she really had to _tell_ you for you to figure it out then you are a sad, sad excuse for... something.”

“Well, geez, it’s not like I’m actively stalking her love life,” he huffs. “You don’t really realize they’re making bedroom eyes at each other until you have a reason to be looking for it!”

“Are they at least together yet?” you ask.

“No, and it’s really dumb,” he complains, rolling onto his back to glare at the ceiling like it’s all its fault. “It’s kind of a general consensus that if they don’t get together by Valentine’s Day, somebody is going to put aphrodisiacs in their food and lock them in a small room together.”

“Dude, try to remember we’re talking about my _sister_ here.”

“Haha, sorry. But seriously.”

“Yeah, I get it.”

You lie there in a sort of companionable silence for a while. You’re wondering if maybe you’re supposed to come up with a new topic of conversation, and he’s just playing with a loose thread on your pillowcase. The room is dead silent aside from your breathing when his stomach lets out a very loud growl. He laughs, sheepishly, as you roll your eyes and climb over him and off the bed.

“Come on, let’s go force Bro to feed us. It’s about fucking time, anyway.”

You reach for the doorknob right as the door swings open; it’s only flashstepping that saves you from a potential concussion, except you’re not really paying attention to where you flashstep _to_ , and you end up tripping over John and sending you both tumbling to the floor in a heap of tangled limbs and vicious profanity. Jake laughs from the doorway.

“Sorry, boys. I was just coming to get you for dinner, and... I’m sorry, do you need help over there?”

You say “no we got this” at the same time John goes “yes please help”. Jake shakes his head, amused grin in place, and walks over to grab you under the arms and haul you to your feet. John gets up on his own easily enough after that, laughing at you.

“Geez, Dave, you must be really light.”

You punch him in the shoulder, grumbling on your way out of the room, and he and Jake just trail behind you, snickering at you. It’s kind of uncanny how much the Egberts, Jake and Jane all look alike. It’s especially uncanny how similar John and Jake are. Fortunately, you don’t have to think about it very long, because when you wander into the kitchen your senses are assaulted with a familiar, delicious aroma.

“Spaghetti,” Bro says over his shoulder. He puts down the spoon he was stirring with, turns down the heat on the stove and hands you a dish. “Serve yourself. More than enough for all of us.”

“Girls aren’t coming?”

“Nah.”

Okay, that’s... kind of weird. Your Bro isn’t the _best_ of cooks, but he’s not too bad, and if there’s one thing he makes well it’s spaghetti and meatballs. It’s pretty much your favorite, and you know Roxy and Jane like it, too, so you can’t quite fathom why they’re not here stealing your food. Which isn’t to say you’re complaining, _hell_ no. More for you.

“What are they up to over there?” you ask anyway, piling noodles, sauce and meatballs into your dish.

Bro shrugs. “Girl shit, probably.” He takes the serving spoon from you. “Who knows what goes on when you leave two Lalondes together without Striders to break them up.”

“I don’t think you’re giving Roxy and Rose nearly enough credit,” Jake says, scoldingly, from behind you. “They seem to get along well enough to me.”

“Well enough that they’re only passive aggressive with each other every other day instead of all day every day,” you say.

“Crocker’s got it all under control,” Bro interrupts, passing a dish to John. “Rox is probably too drunk to be of much trouble anyway.”

The rest of dinner passes in relative calm; Bro and Jake quietly discuss where Jake’s going to find work (if he winds up a park ranger or something _you called it_ ), while you and John just wolf down your first and then second servings of spaghetti. As you absentmindedly rinse off the dishes, you catch yourself worrying over whether or not John feels awkward or not. What the hell is _wrong_ with you? He is in the presence of the Strider brothers. Of course he doesn’t feel awkward. He’s probably honored.

Yeah, _right_.

“I can wash my own plate, you know,” he observes from the table, sitting backward in his chair to watch you. “You don’t have to do that for me.”

“You’re the guest, man, you shouldn’t have to clean shit,” you say. You snag a towel and dry off your forearms, right as Bro dumps his and Jake’s dishes and cutlery into the sink without even turning on the faucet.

“We’re heading over to the ladies’ house now,” he says indifferently. John turns to you in surprise, like you have any idea what the hell is going on ( _you don’t_ ), but Jake is just rising from his chair with a stretch and a yawn.

“Well, shall we?”

You shake your head in disbelief, but follow your Bro and Jake out of the kitchen, John right on your heels. As soon as Bro opens the door, you’re all hit with a gust of freezing air; John dashes out ahead of you, hops onto the Lalondes’ porch, and hurriedly jams his finger into the doorbell. You have to wait for a car to go by before _you_ can cross the street, but as soon as it does you’re sprinting after him, shoving him inside as Jane opens the door. She clucks her tongue disapprovingly and John snickers at you.

“Desperate to get inside, much, Dave?”

“Don’t give me shit for this, I grew up in Texas,” you say, crouching by a heating vent. He starts outright laughing at you. Jane sighs.

“You could just _wear_ a _coat_.”

“All the way across the fucking street?”

The door open-closes again, and you look up as Jake strides past you with a purpose. Bro sits down beside you and shoves you. “Quit hoggin’ the heat, dude.”

“Get yer own damn vent,” you complain, but you do move over a little.

“You two are absolutely pathetic,” Jane grumbles.

The heat vent is making enough noise that it’s hard to detect; however you are fairly certain you can hear hushed voices arguing in the kitchen. You make to stand up and Jane, in a so-overly-casual-it’s-no-longer-casual way, shifts to block you.

“Okay, seriously, what the hell is going on here,” you say. She laughs nervously.

“What are you talking about, Dave?”

“I’m talkin’ about being dragged over here at eight at night, no warning, dunno what the hell we’re here for, and you girls didn’t even come over fer dinner.”

“It is kind of weird that we didn’t all just eat dinner together, if we were coming over anyway,” John agrees.

“Also you’re actin’ suspicious as all fuck,” you add.

Jane gives your brother a pleading look, but before anything else can be said, Roxy yells, “Alright, we’re aaaaaaaall set! Bring ’im in!”

Suddenly jack shit is all you are seeing. You make a half-assed attempt to pry Bro’s hand away from your eyes (shades, technically), but his grip is firm, and yeah, there’s pretty much zero chance you could get away from him even if you felt like strifing right now. So instead of bothering to try, you let him drag you blindly through the house. You regret this decision thirty seconds later when your shin collides painfully with the corner of Jane’s coffee table.

“Fuck,” you swear, stumbling against Bro when you jerk back. He snorts.

“Nice.”

“You’re the one who ran me into the goddamn table,” you grumble.

“The sacrifices made to get you to do this without absconding like the little bastard you are.”

“... Wh--”

Your vision is returned to you a split second before Bro gives you a hard shove forward, forcing you to stumble into the kitchen where shit fuck _damn_ you totally forgot about this and now you can’t escape.

You’re trapped.

Beaming and smirking from behind the warm glow of eighteen candles, the girls chorus, “Happy birthday, Dave!”

God _dammit_.

 

After several minutes of intense wrestling, arguing and begging, you find yourself sitting in front of the ridiculously large cake, your arms crossed defiantly as everyone else looks on expectantly. The cake is not the only thing that is ridiculous. As a matter of fact, you consider the entire situation ridiculous. You may or may not have immensely preferred your usual, semi-ironic celebrations with Bro, just the two of you without all these people fussing over you and staring you down.

“Dave, I know this will disappoint you, but the candles will not go out under your sheer willpower,” Rose says. “You will have to actually blow them out.”

“I dunno, Lalonde, maybe you should explain to me the scientific process of inhaling and exhaling, I don’t think I understand what the fuck I’m doing here,” you drawl.

“Quit with the stalling and blow out the fuckin’ candles already,” Roxy whines, giving you wobbly, drunken puppy eyes. “I want cake already.”

You roll your eyes, suck in a deep breath of air, and let it hurtle out of your chest with a drawn-out _wooooossshhhhhh_. The flames sputter and die, aside from one fucker in the corner that flickers tauntingly before coming back stronger than ever. Jade laughs as you put it out with a quick exhalation.

“You’re gonna have one girlfriend this year!”

“Who the hell even believes in candle superstitions anymore,” you say as Jane swoops in with the cake knife. “Why are you people doing this, anyway, like Crocker needs a birthday as an excuse to make cake.”

“For reasons that are clear to absolutely nobody, we’re actually kind of fond of you and birthday celebrations are a rather traditional method of expressing such fondness,” Rose says primly, then, reaching into the pocket of her cardigan, she adds, “As are the gifts usually given during the aforementioned celebrations.”

You take the envelope warily, turning it over to examine the elegant lavender script. _To my dearest brother, Dave_. You rip it open messily, remove the card for a cursory glance ( _Happy Birthday, darling Strider, here’s to making through another year of strifing and snarking_ and _Happy Birthday Dave I Hope You Enjoy Your Gifts_ , you’ll make fun of Rose for getting Kanae to sign the card later) only to drop it on the table as you catch the slip of paper that flutters out of it. It’s... a business card?

“Ultrazone Laser Tag,” you read aloud. You look from Rose, who’s smiling smugly, to your Bro, who looks surprised but by no measure disappointed. At all. “You are a beautiful woman.”

“I will take that as your expression of gratitude,” Rose says as she steals your slice of cake. “I request Jade’s presence in my team roster, however.”

“Of course!” Jade cheers.

“Girls versus boys!” John crows in delight.

“Hell yes,” you say. “Ladies, prepare to be schooled.”

“I wouldn’t put bets on that,” Rose purrs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My research was unhelpful so I actually don't know if there's really an Ultrazone anywhere in Washington. If there isn't they should fix that.  
> What did everybody else get Dave? Who knows, use your imagination!  
> Concrit continues to be a thing I would love.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things that come after Dave Strider's birthday: Rose Lalonde's birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constructive criticism is always greatly appreciated!

“Alright, who the fuck keeps sniping me?”

“Shut up and stay low, Dave,” John laughs, dragging you around a corner and behind a wall. After a few seconds, your “phaser” hums back to life. “Maybe you should stop running all over the place without looking around first!”

“Like you’re doin’ any better,” you grumble. You wipe your sweaty hands off on your jeans.

“I _am_ doing _much_ better thank you very much,” John huffs. “Who’s taken out all four of the other bases, here?”

“You only got the upper blue base because you shoved me into that mob of yellow teamers and ran,” you scoff.

“Totally necessary,” he says. “I got the yellow bases just _fine_.”

“You couldn’t even _find_ the lower blue base.”

“Well it’s not my fault this place is so dark and maze-y!”

“It’s laser tag, dumbass, of course it’s dark _shit--_ ”

“ _Shot by a blue phaser_ ,” the automated voice in your vest declares. You stand up to glare around the upper level. _Who the hell even hit you, you were behind a wall in a goddamn corner_. There isn’t a blue teamer in sight (although you do spy some yellow teamers by the entrance of the upper blue base).

“Aren’t the girls on the blue team?” John asks, still sitting on the ground.

“Roxy’s drunk, Jane’s awful at this and if it was Rose she would be rubbing it in my face right now,” you deadpan as you crouch down beside him again, gun at the ready as soon as it powers back up. “You think it was your sister?”

“I dunno, Jade probably would have shot me too, not just sniped you,” John says hesitantly. He lifts his own gun back into position. “Although I guess if Rose put her up to immmph.”

“Shuddup a sec,” you hiss. He rolls his eyes but gives you a nod. You take your hand off his mouth, cock your gun carefully at the yellow base and...

“ _Hit by a red phaser_.”

“ _Hey!_ ”

“Aaaand now we run,” you say, fleeing your corner before your sniper’s gun can reboot. John laughs breathlessly and yanks you down a ramp on your way across the upper level.

“Come on, let’s go camp out in the mirror room.”

“No way, why would we do that that room sucks,” you complain, but you let him drag you, and the only reason you don’t end up camping in the mirror room is because the round ends.

“You suck,” Jade informs you when you all regroup in the lobby to wait for your next round.

“Karma’s a bitch,” you say.

 

“What is your plan for dealing with the completion of your high school education?” Rose asks as you crouch behind a wall together in an attempt to evade the Egberts’ sniping prowess.

“Same plan it’s been,” you mutter, poking your head up to fire a few shots in return. “I’m in an online schooling program, Lalonde, why would I have to change anything?”

“I was hoping maybe you would try a semester at the local public high school.”

You pause in your shooting, sink down next to her, and push up your shades because you sense a coming heart-to-heart discussion. In the middle of a laser tag arena.

Rose has always had kind of weird timing for these things.

“Even if I could drag some tiny inkling of interest for that idea, kicking and screaming, from the recesses of my heart, I have no idea how the hell you transfer out of an online high school,” you deadpan.

“I think it would be good for you,” she insists. “You lack any sort of major socialization in your life. John and Jade are probably the first new people you’ve truly gotten to know since your primary introduction to _myself_.”

“So?”

“That was nine years ago, Dave.”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“ _Dave_.”

“Look, Lalonde,” you massage your temples. “I don’t like people and I don’t see why the fuck I need to have anything to do with them. You should _know_ that.”

“As _you_ should know the ability to socialize is a life skill,” Rose says. “You’re going to have to talk to people in the best-case-scenario college experience, and most certainly when it’s time for you to get a job.”

“Then shouldn’t I enjoy this while it lasts?”

“Please at least consider it.”

“I’m inclined not to,” you say.

“Please,” she says.

“No,” you repeat. She gives you a disappointed, frustrated look, highlighted with the blue glow of the nearby base. “But if you’re really _that_ fucking determined to get me to socialize, you can come up with alternatives and I _might_ think about them. But I’m definitely not attending your goddamn school.”

“Not even for the chance to keep tabs on my potential love interests?” she persists. You narrow your eyes.

“That’s low.”

“I find it difficult to believe you were ever under the impression I play fair.”

“You’ll probably find it equally difficult to believe I’m going to trust you to handle that on your own.”

She stares at you like you’ve grown another head.

“What,” you say. “I know how fucking hard you kick, I’m not worried about you.”

“So you are bound and determined to avoid human contact, regardless of the consequences?”

“Not what I’m sayin’. I told you I’m open to possibly consider alternatives.”

You stare each other down. Finally, Rose relents with a sigh. “Alternatives it is, then. I will consider it progress nonetheless.”

You push your shades back down over your eyes and take up your gun again. “Glad to hear it. Let’s go kick some ass.”

(It’s actually a lot harder than it sounds, because Jake _and_ Jade are on the blue team for this round and really, two people who know how to use real guns playing laser tag on the same team is just _unfair_. You manage, however, between you, Bro, and Rose.

You’re not sure where Roxy went off to in all this, but you suspect she and Jane found some quiet corner to make out in and just ditched the rest of you altogether.)

 

You make it home sometime around one in the morning, and John immediately begins to fuss over you.

“Dude, chill the fuck out,” you groan as you kick off your shoes and dump your coat somewhere in the general vicinity of the coat rack. “It’s not even _that_ late.”

“You didn’t sleep until like five this morning, man, you need all the sleep you can get,” he says firmly, dragging you down the hallway and into your bedroom by your sleeve. “... Wait, shit, how are we gonna do this.”

You toe the door shut as your exhausted brain slowly ticks through the various things he could be talking about. After a few seconds, you realize oh, duh. Sleeping arrangements. You shove him towards the bed and stagger over to your Pile in the corner. He squawks in protest.

“Dave, no, that can’t be comfortable at _all_.”

“It’s all pillows and fuzzy things, of course it’s fucking comfortable,” you mumble, sinking down to curl up under a couple layers of blankets. “Don’t worry about me, Egbert, you’ve gotta deal with all my usual pillows up there smelling like my badass shampoo. You will be so blown away you won’t be able to sleep.”

He mutters vulgarities before he grabs one of your pillows, presses it to his face and inhales deeply. Then he starts laughing. “Strawberries? Really, bro?”

“It’s incredibly ironic, I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” you slur. “Also, strawberries are goddamn delicious.”

“Whatever,” he snickers, tossing the pillow back onto the bed and reaching over to flick off the light. “We’ll switch off with the bed tomorrow, okay? I’m not gonna let you sleep on the floor the entire time I stay here.”

“We’ll see about that,” you say, barely coherent with exhaustion.

“Good night, Dave.”

“Night, Egbert.”

Five seconds later, you’re asleep.

 

When you regain consciousness, you note several important things; one of them is that there is now a cat on top of you, another is that somebody took off your shades and set them neatly to the side while you were sleeping, and the last is that John is running around your room making far too much noise for whatever ungodly hour this happens to be. You slide your shades back on and slowly push yourself up into a sitting position. John is too busy frantically throwing on clothes to notice this.

“I don’t know what time it is but you better have a damn good excuse for this,” you manage to say, hoarsely. He freezes midway through pulling on a shirt, then laughs sheepishly, finishes putting it on, and turns to face you.

“Morning!”

“Don’t you give me _morning_ ,” you grumble, scratching behind Mutie’s ears. She begins purring in her sleep. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m getting ready for school,” he says, crossing the room to crouch beside you and assist in the petting of the cat. He gives you a grin. “I’d say I’m sorry for waking you up, but you probably need to get a move on, too!”

“The only thing I’ll be getting on is my _sleep_ ,” you say. You wriggle back down under your blankets until they’re almost over your head. “Have fun learning or whatever.”

“Aw, Dave, are you hibernating?” he coos, lifting the blankets to poke your cheek.

“Definitely what’s happening, dude, I’ll see you in the spring,” you scoff as you swat his hand away. “Tell my lovely sister I said happy birthday.”

“Oh geez, it’s Rose’s birthday?” he gasps. “I totally forgot!”

“Not my problem,” you say.

After he leaves, you doze off again, waking up sometime around ten to horrible bed hair and a quiet house. You drag yourself into the kitchen to find the usual note from Bro ( _Went to work, English is looking for job opportunities in the area. Do your schoolwork. Make sure Egbert didn’t forget his lunch. Try to get out of the house at some point._ ) and the leftover birthday cake, which you have for breakfast. Then you traipse back to your room, flop down in your pile of fluffy things and take out your laptop.

You know a lot of teenagers would probably kill for this kind of life. Home alone, no school, cake for breakfast, laptop all day? It’s gotta be some kind of fucking paradise. And you’re really pretty okay with this routine, honestly. The cake is really good and you don’t have to deal with people this way.

But in the end Rose has a point.

You get a little lonely sometimes.

That, however, is not the problem. You have a perfectly functional set of legs which you do, in fact, use to leave the house every once in a while. The _real_ problem is that you’ll get lonely enough to socialize the way Rose always wants you to and you’ll be reminded why you isolated yourself in the first place. It’s because people are jackasses. The reminder usually lasts you a month, maybe two, before a momentary lapse in judgement will lead you to make the same mistake all over again, rinse and repeat. It’s like there’s a part of you that is absolutely determined that there are good people _somewhere_ out there. And you know there are. Jake and Jane didn’t just pop up out of thin air, after all, and you guess the Egberts seem alright so far, and Rose’s Kanae must be decent.

So that gives you an entire five out of six billion, not counting Striders and Lalondes.

Why are you thinking about this, this is just incredibly fucking depressing. Time for school.

Now _this_ , you think as you log in to the program, is a level of socialization you can deal with. _Without_ wanting to stab somebody.

 

It’s about one in the afternoon and you’re trying to figure out what the fuck to do your English essay on when your phone begins to buzz incessantly.

 

ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

 

_Who?_

 

EB: hey dave, is this you?

EB: daaaave.

EB: okay, sure, ignore me, that’s cool.

EB: not like i need to discuss IMPORTANT TOP SECRET THINGS with you or anything.

 

Their speech pattern is kind of vaguely familiar.

 

TG: is there any chance you happen to be one john egbert

EB: no, dave, clearly i am a random internet predator who happened to get your pesterchum handle from your sister and knows you by name.

EB: of course it’s me, numbnuts!

TG: the helld you get lalonde to tell you my pesterchum handle for

EB: i told you, important top secret things.

TG: i can see where this is going

TG: no i will not help you plan a surprise party for her

EB: :(

EB: why not?

TG: for one thing because i wont know anybody there

TG: for another thing i had that shit pulled on me last night

TG: and as a fellow member of the strider-lalonde pack

TG: i would not wish the same horror on her that has been done unto me

EB: whiner, that was barely even a surprise party.

TG: close enough for me

EB: i bet rose will love a surprise party.

EB: also, so what if you don’t know anyone there?

EB: we can introduce you!!!

EB: meet new people, make new friends, the works.

TG: nope

EB: uuuuugh.

EB: are you just being difficult for the sake of being difficult or do you really not want to go that badly?

TG: i dont know egbert which do you think it is

EB: i don’t know. i haven’t known you for that long, dude.

TG: why are you so dead set on my coming then

EB: because you’re my housemate now and you seem kind of fun and rose

EB: oops, never mind.

TG: goddammit

TG: is she complaining about me again

EB: i didn’t say anything. :B

TG: i can see right through your flimsy little lies

TG: tell lalonde to back off ill socialize at my own fuckin pace

EB: so you won’t come to the party?

TG: dude dont you have a class to be paying attention to or something

EB: don’t change the subject.

EB: please?

TG: idk

TG: i guess i can try to distract lalonde while you set things up

TG: but that’s the most you’re getting out of me

TG: im not promising to show up

EB: i guess that’s good enough.

EB: we’ll just drag you along with us when we come to pick her up.

TG: have you ever tried to make a strider do something they didnt want to do before

EB: hmm, can’t say i have.

EB: don’t underestimate me, though.

EB: you won’t know what hit you.

EB: one minute you will be chillaxing in your room, and then BAM.

EB: suddenly you are in the middle of a party with no memory of how you got there.

TG: did you really just use the word chillaxing

TG: seriously though dont you have class right now

EB: bluhhh.

EB: i do, but talking to you is way more interesting than math.

TG: im flattered

EB: don’t be. it’s not a very high standard.

TG: yeah i figured as much

TG: quit texting and take notes or whatever

TG: i dont want you to come crying to me when you flunk

EB: that’s not gonna happen, dave.

EB: but i guess you have a point.

EB: i’ll see you this afternoon, then.

EB: at the PARTY. :B

ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead[TG]

 

Yeah right.

 

Several hours later, you find yourself in the middle of a party with no memory of how you got here.

You suspect there were a lot of shenanigans involved.

You’re kind of on edge, here-- Rose, as the birthday girl, is off being fussed over, and for all his promises of forcing you to socialize, John is nowhere to be found. So basically you’re in a room full of people you don’t know with no hope of leaving any time in the near future, because the party is at Kanae’s house and you have _no_ idea how the hell you get home from here. Your options are to find a quiet corner to avoid everyone in or make some new friends. You’re leaning towards the first one.

Then you feel somebody breathing on the back of your neck.

“That’s only kind of really fuckin’ creepy,” you say, mildly, without turning around. They cackle, and a hand trails around you as they come to your front. You’re looking at a pretty ginger girl with a crocodile grin.

A pretty, _blind_ ginger girl with a crocodile grin, if the glasses and cane are anything to go by.

“You smell like peaches and lemonade and strawberries,” she tells you, hand still resting on your chest. “Are you related to Rose?”

You’re not even going to _try_ to connect the two things she just said.

“Yeah. She’s my little sis.”

The crocodile grin grows even wider. “And what’s your name, Mr.Lalonde?”

“Whoa there, little lady, back the fuck up,” you say. “A Lalonde I am proud _not_ to be.”

“Sorry, Mr.Strawberry-Peach-Lemonade,” she snickers, allowing her hand to drape over your crossed arms.

“That’s better.” At least maybe it could pass for ironic.

“Seriously, though, what’s your name.”

“Dave Strider,” you relent.

“Dave Strider,” she repeats. “Well, Dave Strider, it’s a _pleasure_ to meet you.”

What’s with the emphasis and the suggestive eyebrows?

Wait is she hitting on you, are you being hit on.

“Dave, you’ve been talking to Resa for almost a whole two minutes and you still don’t look disturbed, that’s gotta be some kind of record!” John says, tossing you a can of ginger ale. You manage not to fumble the catch. “Or has she not asked to lick you yet?”

“No, but she keeps telling me I smell like fruit,” you say as you click the tab back.

“Oh, she says that about everyooooone Resa no!”

You watch “Resa” grab a struggling John by the shoulders and, despite his squirming and protests, lick a broad stripe across his cheek before letting him letting him go and skipping off, snickering to herself. John grumbles to himself, wiping vigorously at the saliva on his cheek.

“Who was that and what just happened?” you finally ask when you get bored of watching him give her dirty looks across the room.

“Theresa Pyrope, she’s... oh, geez, what is this word again,” he groans. “She tastes and smells colors and stuff, you know?”

“Synaesthetic,” you supply. He laughs.

“How do you even know that, dude?”

“You learn a lot of random, mostly-useless shit when you’re related to Rose Lalonde.”

“Yeah, I guess that would do it.” He takes a swig of soda. “So how’s the whole _making of friends_ thing coming along, Theresa aside?”

“Depends whether you count or not,” you admit. He rolls his eyes and socks you in the shoulder playfully.

“There’s like thirty people here, man, how hard can this be?”

“I’m not much of a people person.”

“ _Daa-aaaave._ ”

“Egbert, I have no idea how you got me here but I’m pretty sure I gave you sufficient warning that in the event that I found myself at a party, I would hate every second of it.”

“Gosh, fine,” he grumbles, slouching a little. “I guess a party was kind of a big first step.”

“You and Lalonde spent the school day plotting things to force me to do, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “Pretty much! She really worries about you, y’know.”

“In her own, Lalondish ways,” you mutter.

“Anyway, if you’re really not having any fun here, I guess we can probably leave now.” He peers through a crowd of people. “Kanae can get Rose home safe. Maybe.”

You begin weaving through little clusters of people in search of the exit, John trailing a few feet behind you; you’ve just reached out for the door handle when he squawks “No, wait, don’t--!”

You turn quickly, under the impression he’s talking to you, when one hand fists in your shirt and _yanks_ you down. Before you have time to comprehend this beyond a _what the fuck_ there is something hot, wet, and smooth streaking over your cheek, and somewhat sloppily over the left lense of your shades. You jerk away, wiping at it furiously.

“Licorice,” Theresa says, looking thoughtful. “Well played, Mr.Strider. Well played.”

Then she disappears back into the party. It’s all you can do to mechanically turn back towards a less-than-apologetic John.

“I tried to warn you,” he chokes out around a wheeze of laughter.

“Don’t know why you bothered with all the laughing about it you’re doin’ now,” you grumble. He just laughs harder.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave bonds with the Egberts.  
> ... Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, okay this is really just ridiculously late. Sorry!

The first thing you realize when you wake up is that whoa, this isn’t the goddamn pillow pile. Well yeah there is a _pile_ of _pillows_ , but these aren’t the brand-new pillows from your corner of squishy comfy things. They smell like your shampoo, a trait the new pillows have yet to take on, and whatever is underneath you is far too comfortable to be the floor. Armed with these observations, you are able to make the brilliant deduction that you somehow wound up on your bed. Without opening your eyes, you stretch one arm, feeling clumsily around your bedside table until your fingers brush the frames of a pair of glasses. You hesitantly feel at them with your hand, then grimace and discard them. Not your shades. Must be John’s glasses.

Where the fuck are your shades?

You crack open one eye enough to confirm that it is, in fact, an unholy hour of morning. It is such an unholy hour of morning that even your roommate is still sleeping. You pat yourself on the back for having such a fucked-up sleep cycle, then ease yourself off the mattress and squint through the darkness at the corner. You... _think_ that’s John over there, in your nest of blankets? You don’t really know who the hell else it would be. But you don’t remember falling asleep on the bed, either. You could have sworn you insisted on letting him have it again, as the guest.

This is all very mysterious. You will have to put some more thought into it when you’re more coherent.

That could take a few hours.

You crawl across the floor as quietly as you can ( _which isn’t very quietly-- fuckin’ creaky floorboards_ ) and sweep your hands around the area until you’ve located both your laptop and your shades. Then you snag a blanket off the bed and abscond to the living room, where you are pretty much one-hundred-percent less likely to accidentally wake John up while you fuss around on the internet and hope to pass out again.

You don’t remember it, but it must’ve worked because you wake up later sprawled on the couch, your shades and laptop set neatly on the coffee table and a blanket tucked around you. You stare blearily at the ceiling for a few minutes, unwilling to disentangle yourself from the warmth; when a loud crash and yelp come from the kitchen, you manage to groan and haul yourself to your feet, blanket still wrapped around your shoulders as you stagger into the other room.

John looks up from where he’s running cold water over his hand. “Oh, uh, morning, Dave!”

You squint at his hand. He grabs a towel to wipe at it. “Don’t worry, it’s just I’m not too good at cooking and I managed to burn myself a little, haha.”

“Jesus christ,” you mumble, rubbing at your own eyes. “That was a lot of noise for a _little burn_.”

“Yeah, I know. Sorry, man. You should go back to sleep. In your room on the bed, also, why did you even get up and come out here? That seems kind of dumb.”

“Don’t question my methods,” you grumble. The screech of the chair you drag over the floor wakes you up a little. You curl up on it. “Speaking of sleep and moving, dude, why the hell did you move me to the bed in the first place?”

“I _told_ you I wouldn’t let you sleep on the floor the entire time I was staying here,” he sniffs, turning back to several pans on the stove. “Anyway, I made eggs and bacon, do you want some?”

“What kind of eggs?” you ask, craning your neck in an attempt to see what’s in the pans. It doesn’t work.

“Sunny side up,” he says. He sets a plate down in front of you. “I didn’t add any salt or pepper yet, so go ahead and add whatever.”

He pulls out the seat next to you, and sits down with his own plate; for a while, the only noise is the scraping of forks and knives against porcelain. It’s a solid five minutes of relative silence before you hear a door creak, followed by footsteps, from somewhere else in the house. Bro staggers in half a minute later and fumbles with the coffee machine.

“Morning!” John chirps.

Bro makes a noise that could be construed as anything from _good morning to you, too_ to _what the fuck are you doing sounding so cheerful at this time of morning_. You’re leaning towards the second one, yourself. What time is it even? _Six thirty?_ Jesus fucking christ what is this boy doing.

“English?” you slur. Bro shakes his head as he takes a slug of coffee.

“Sleepin’,” he manages, hoarsely, after he’s swallowed. “I’d be, too, but I’ve gotta get t’ work early t’day.”

“Sucks to be you,” you say, around a mouthful of bacon.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” he grumbles.

After breakfast is over, you curl up on the sofa with your laptop again, half actually trying to work on your school shit, half just listening to the footsteps and creaky floorboards as Bro and John get ready to leave. Bro finishes first, and casually slides your shades on for you when he passes on his way out the door, muttering some kind of departing sentiment. You blanch. You _completely forgot_ your shades for the past _half hour?_

John pads into the room five minutes later, and heads straight to the coat rack. You’re doing your best to ignore him ( _an entire_ half hour _, if he was distracted from how weird your eyes were due to circumstances the night you met he’s definitely seen them now, fuck_ ) when he pauses with a hand on the doorknob.

“Hey, Dave?”

“Hm.”

“I, uh... I was thinking of going over to a friend’s house after school. So don’t worry or something if I’m not home right away. Or. Whatever.” He coughs awkwardly. “I just thought you might want to know.”

“Yeah, sure. Have fun or something.” You shift the blanket across your shoulders until it covers you more thoroughly. Is it just you or has it been getting colder?

John snickers as he twists the doorknob, and the room floods with freezing air. You cringe unintentionally. “You know, dude, I won’t think any less of you if you just put on a fucking sweater.”

He’s gone before you can come up with a smartass response.

Dammit.

 

When he doesn’t come back in time for dinner, it takes you a good forever to convince yourself you’re not fucking _worried_ or something dumb like that. You’re just curious about what the hell he’s doing that he’d rather keep at it than eat. Besides, what would you even be worried about? _Why_ would you be worried? Your father has been taken care of, and John’s a big boy, he can look after himself. You barely _know_ the guy, he’s hardly your responsibility.

Bro’s still at work. Jake is still out job hunting.

You eat dinner alone.

( _You are_ not _lonely_.)

 

When John wakes up the next morning, the first thing thing he says to you is “holy _shit_ , Dave.”

“Hm,” you mutter, surreptitiously sliding your shades down over your eyes. You hear a quiet _thump_ from the general direction of the bed, and then there is a John sitting on top of your shins ( _although it’s entirely possible the shins part was unintentional, he probably can’t tell where your legs are under all these blankets_ ), peering at you over the top of your laptop with a mixture of awe and horror.

“Dude, did you not sleep at _all_ last night?”

You type the last word of your essay and hit _save_ , then shut your laptop. “What about it?”

“Oh my _god_. Are you always like this?”

“Am I always like what?”

“I... never mind, you know what? Come on. I’m going to make breakfast and then you really need to go the fuck to sleep, man.”

You’re baffled, but you let him haul you in the general direction of the kitchen. “I... sorry, I uh. Did I keep you up last night or something?”

He snorts. “No, I slept like a rock.”

You watch him sweeping about the kitchen, grabbing things from the freezer and pulling pans out of the cupboards with loud clatters. His hair is a frizzy mess, and he’s still in pajamas and you really have no idea why feeding you is suddenly his priority when he could be getting his shit together for school.

“So?”

“So what?” he asks over the hiss of hot oil.

“So if it wasn’t bothering you then why are you so worked up over it?”

“Be _cause_ ,” he grumbles, dumping the contents of a packet of bacon into a pan. “You’re pretty obviously exhausted, and pulling all-nighters isn’t good for you, and I feel tired just _looking_ at you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, _oh_ ,” he whirls around and bops you over the head with an open palm. He’s clearly trying to look intimidating, but with his Ghostbusters t-shirt, unkempt hair and traitorous grin, it’s not working out too well. “If I’m gonna be your roommate, I’m forcing you to learn how to take care of yourself!”

“I can take care of myself just _fine_ ,” you complain.

“No, you can’t,” he deadpans, turning back to the stove. He does something with the eggs and a pack of frozen potato pancakes.

“Can so.”

“Can _not_.”

“Can _so_.”

God, what are you, five?

“Can _not_ ,” John snickers. Then he adds, more seriously, “Remember what you were like at the police station?”

You can’t help but scowl. “Completely different circumstances.”

“Well, yeah, but...” he shrugs sheepishly, glancing over his shoulder at you. “I dunno, it hasn’t been that long so I don’t know about you but I’m not really over it yet so I thought you might not be so I just want to make sure you’re doing okay, too. Something like that.”

“Oh,” you say again, and promptly feel like an idiot. “Well. Thanks. I think.”

“This is what it’s like having friends, Dave,” he chuckles. “We look out for each other.”

“Don’t listen to every goddamn thing Lalonde tells you, I can guarantee you _so_ much of it is just complete and utter _bullshit_.”

“I dunno, dude,” John drawls, in one of those tones that make you want to yank him over by the collar of his shirt and punch the stupid smug grin right off his face. “Judging by how you clammed up at the party the other day, I’d say she’s pretty spot-on about your social skills!”

“Just shut up, would you,” you huff. “I’m exactly as socially capable as I want to be.”

“Wow, you sure don’t have very high standards for yourself.”

“You’re just really charming and reassuring, aren’t you, Egbert?”

“Don’t bite the hand that feeds you,” he says, chidingly, passing you a plate of warm delicious breakfast things. You don't bother trying to come up with a response.

After you’ve both eaten, you make to wash the dishes, like you usually do; however, instead of rolling his eyes at you like _he_ usually does, John seizes you by the arm and drags you back to your bedroom.

“Egbert,” you sigh, lowering your voice to a whisper when you pass Bro and Jake’s room, “It’s not a goddamn emergency, I’m not going to randomly pass out or something.”

“I wish you would,” he mutters. He shoves you onto your bed and makes to snatch your shades. You slap his hand away reflexively. “Okay, I don’t know what you did before now but in case you aren’t aware of this for some reason, it’s actually pretty weird to sleep with sunglasses on!”

“Okay, not that your concern isn’t touching but--”

“Or be inside with sunglasses on at all for that matter,” he adds. You scoff, rolling onto your side so your back is toward him.

“Whatever, just get ready for school or something.”

“You _have_ to sleep!”

“Jesus christ, yes, okay, I’ll sleep, but I can’t if you stick around _nagging me_.”

He just throws a pillow at your head.

 

You doze intermittently until about eleven, when you remember that you have other school work to do, too, not just the essay you stayed up all night finishing. You work half-heartedly to catch up on that until one, when

ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

EB: hey dave.

EB: have you eaten lunch yet?

_Dammit John._

You sulk into the kitchen, grab a container of cold chicken, and sit down at the table with your laptop.

TG: im eating it right now are you happy now

EB: wow do you really need me mother henning you every minute of the day to do dumb normal stuff like eating and sleeping?

TG: is my sister putting you up to this

EB: not the point.

She totally is. Goddammit Rose.

EB: what are you eating?

TG: cold chicken

EB: dude, just microwave it.

TG: dont feel like it

EB: come on dave.

TG: jesus christ just pay attention to your fucking math or whatever

TG: i survived this long without you i will continue surviving if you pay attention in class like youre supposed to

EB: but you didn’t get any lunch until i texted, right?

TG: i wouldve eaten when i felt hungry

TG: thats why obesity is so prevalent in america these days yknow

TG: eating when youre not hungry makes you fat

EB: i really don’t think you’re in any danger of getting fat, dave.

EB: i have an easier time carrying you than my sister.

TG: when the fuck were you carrying me around

EB: when i moved you from the blanket nest to your bed.

EB: which i maintain was entirely necessary.

TG: im not having this argument with you again

TG: seriously man just pay attention to your math i promise i wont die while youre not looking

TG: texting

TG: same shit

EB: hmmmmmm.

EB: fine.

EB: FOR NOW.

ectobiologist [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

Yeah, yeah, whatever.

Having a roommate is pretty fussy business, apparently.

Or maybe it’s just having a roommate who’s friends with your sister.

 

gardenGnostic [GG] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

TG: goddamn is lalonde just giving out my handle to anyone who asks or

GG: hi dave!!

TG: hi to you too

TG: so who are you actually

GG: this is jade!

GG: you know, john’s sister??

TG: oh yeah

TG: so whats up

TG: need me to convince crocker and lalonde senior of something for you

GG: hmm, nope. that’s not it.

GG: but i’ll keep you in mind if i ever do! >:D

GG: but actually i was hoping you might be able to walk me home?

… _What?_

TG: what

TG: you mean like from school

GG: yup.

TG: this is kind of out of the blue

TG: why do you need an escort

GG: ummmmm...

GG: well to be honest it’s because the school news crew won’t leave me alone!

TG: the school news crew

GG: i don’t know what they’re really called! the kids who write for the school newspaper.

GG: john and i let it slip that we’d had to move because something big happened, and they think that it must be really interesting and dramatic so they keep asking us questions about it. :(

GG: but i don’t want to talk about it. because it makes me really sad.

GG: and i think they’re going to try to ambush me on the way home and i thought maybe if you were there they might leave me alone. or at least be distracted.

TG: so basically you just need me to hang around and act intimidating or something

GG: well... yeah i guess!

TG: i guess i can do that

TG: because you asked so nicely

GG: really?

TG: gotta help a damsel in distress

TG: wheres the school and what time do you let out

GG: it’s right by that little strip mall.

GG: you know, past the park?

TG: yeah i think i know what youre talking about

GG: and actually we let out really soon, in like fifteen minutes.

TG: holy shit

You cast a stunned glance at your alarm clock. It is, in fact, now 3:14 in the afternoon.

This is why you have to get all your school shit out of the way _before_ you pick up a book. It feels like it’s barely been twenty minutes since you were arguing with John.

TG: okay the next time you pull something like this

TG: try to leave me some time to get lost or distracted

TG: would it have killed you to ask earlier

GG: i’m sorry!

GG: they only really started bothering me last hour, and i didn’t think of this until right when i messaged you.

GG: thanks a lot for doing this, dave!! :D

TG: yeah yeah

TG: on my way now

TG: if im not there exactly when you get out its not my fault

TG: im not making any promises

GG: geeeez, i get it, just get moving already.

gardenGnostic [GG] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

You shove your phone into your pocket and hurry to get your shit together; shoes, shades, coat, scarf... Yeah, you’re set.

These Egberts. What are you going to do with them.

 

“Thanks again,” Jade chirps, skipping alongside you as you trudge away from the school. “This is really nice of you, Dave!”

“Yeah, sure,” you grumble. You try to discretely tuck your face further into your scarf. It doesn’t really work. The air catches your breath and turns it to fine white mist in front of you. “Is Washington always this fucking _cold?_ ”

“Only in the winter,” Jade says cheerfully. “Are you not wearing a sweater under that? Oh, and you should’ve gotten something to cover your ears! And proper boots. You definitely need to get yourself some proper boots.”

“What are you, my mother?”

“Rude!” Jade laughs, shoving at you. You don’t bother trying to dodge. She barely jostles you anyway. “No, I bet that’s Jane’s job.”

You grimace. “Yeah, she’s got it covered.”

You walk in silence for about another block before  you make an attempt at breaking the silence.

“So hey, speaking of Crocker, how’re the arrangements working out for you?”

Jade blinks like a deer in the headlights, then gives you a small smile. She almost looks a little sad. “It’s... Well, it’s only been a few days. I’m still getting used to it. Jane and Rose and Roxy are all really nice, though, and Roxy is really funny when she’s drunk. Which, well, um.”

“Is all the time,” you finish for her lazily.

“Hehe, yeah, pretty frequently anyway,” she laughs halfheartedly. “I’m just... really, really grateful I wound up with your family, you know? I love Rose and Jane and Roxy seem so nice and I’m right across the street from John, and I get to keep Bec. God, I-- I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t get to keep Bec.”

“You sure like that fucking devilbeast a lot,” you say, without thinking about it. Jade gives you a good, hard whack. “Wh-- _ow_.”

“Bec’s a _good_ dog!” she huffs. After a moment, her indignant expression melts into a more crestfallen look. “He really is. He loves me.”

Well, now you feel like a dick.

“I’m... sure that’s true,” you mutter, picking your words carefully this time. “I just noticed. He... doesn’t really seem to like anybody else. That’s all.”

“He’s just really protective,” Jade insists. “He wants to keep me safe.” Pause. “Also he totally likes John, too, so you’re wrong!”

You roll your eyes. “Alright, I get it.”

She hits you again. At least this time, it’s not as hard.

You pause at the end of the walkway to the Crocker household. “Well, here you are. Mission complete. Bye.”

“Wh-- okay, fine, be that way!” Jade calls after you, grumbling to herself the entire way to the front door.

You briefly consider flirting with guilt (she looked like a kicked puppy), then decide you really don’t give a damn. At least Rose can’t say you haven’t tried socializing today.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dave doesn't make any progress in being able to socialize. One step forward two steps back, anyone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA 7/8/2015: trigger warning for anxiety attacks.

John marches into the room at eleven pm to take your laptop away from you and throw your blankets on top of you. You spend the entire time grumbling about how he’s overreacting. You then proceed to sleep so well he actually has to shake you awake to tell you, with an amused smile, that he is leaving for school now and he’ll be at a friend’s house again after school, so don’t worry about him.

“Don’t say it,” you grumble, trying to simultaneously hide your face in a pillow and find your shades on the bedside table.

“I told you so,” he chirps anyway.

 

The next day is Friday. You have some vague notion that this is the day when people do social things, like shopping or going to movies or playing sports together, but this has never been something that’s really concerned _you_ so you don’t care.

“You should come over to Kar’s with me, after school!”

Of course, John is doing his damndest to _get_ everything to concern you.

“I don’t even know who that is,” you point out, not bothering to turn your attention away from the dishes you’re rinsing.

“It would be a good social opportunity for you,” he continues, like you hadn’t said anything at all. “You could meet Naemi and Sol, too!”

“Egbert--”

“Resa might even be there,” he adds, in a tone that implies he thinks this might convince you.

“Am I supposed to be eager to get somebody else’s saliva on my face again?” you grumble. “Can’t you transmit diseases that way?”

“Oh, come on. You thought she was kind of fun.”

“I’m not crashing your friendly get-together, Egbert.”

You hear a loud, put-upon sigh from behind you. You roll your eyes and shut off the faucet, dry your hands on a towel and turn to face John again with your arms crossed defiantly over your chest. John is sitting backwards in his chair, straddling the backrest and jesus fucking christ is he making puppy dog eyes at you?

“What are you, six?”

“It’s a baby step,” he insists. You think he’s referring to the socializing again. “Just meet a few new people-- three at most, you already technically met Resa... It’s not that much.”

“I don’t _want_ to--”

“Daaa-aaaaaaaaave,” he groans. “Come on, _please?_ ”

“Maybe some other time,” you say, briefly feeling like a parent with a whining child who can’t accept that you just don’t do those things goddammit.

“ _Pleeeeeeeeeease_...” he whines. “Pretty pretty please with a cherry on top?”

“No. Go finish getting ready for school.”

“You’re not my mother, you can’t tell me what to do.”

“No, but I can tell you you’ll be late for school if you don’t get your ass moving.” You gesture at the digital display on the microwave. John mutters something that sounds rude under his breath, but slinks out of the kitchen all the same.

“You said you wouldn’t go to the party, either, and look what happened then,” he tries later, while he’s putting his shoes on.

“Still have _no_ fucking idea how that happened,” you mutter under your breath, typing away on your laptop.

“But you didn’t mind too much in the end, right?”

“I’m _not_ coming over to your friend’s house,” you say, firmly. “And that is the end of it.”

“We’ll see about that,” John grumbles.

Yeah right.

 

You really have to figure out how he keeps doing this.

It can’t be puppy eyes, he tried that this morning and you didn’t have any trouble resisting. And it’s not your sister because she wasn’t involved in any way this time oh wait shit John’s ringing the doorbell.

“You don’t need to look so nervous, man,” John laughs, nudging your shoulder with his.

“Who’s nervous?” you scoff (never mind that your hands are clenched into anxious fists in your pockets, you’re not _nervous_ , you’re just meeting a couple of your dumb roommate’s probably dumber friends).

The door swings open. The brunette who opened it beams up at John, spreading her arms wide (welcomingly?).

“Hi, John!”

“Hi Naemi!” He squeezes her tightly in a hug. She giggles into his shoulder for a moment before turning big brown eyes to you.

“Heeey, who’s this?”

You take a hesitant step forward. John smiles approvingly. “This is Dave. Dave, this is my friend Kar’s stepsister, Naemi.”

“Hey,” you say, awkwardly.

“Hello!” She grins at you. “Kar didn’t tell me you were bringing anyone else over.”

“I’m sure I mentioned it to him in passing,” John says, dismissively. “Hey, can we come inside? It’s freezing out here!”

“Oh, gosh, yeah, hey did you see the weather report?” Naemi asks, backing out of the way so you and John can slip into the front entryway. She closes the door behind you. “It’s supposed to snow tonight!”

You can’t help it. You groan.

“Aww, Dave, it’ll be fun,” John snickers at you as you’re pulling your shoes off.

“It won’t be fun, it will be _cold_. And wet.”

“Did you just move here?” Naemi looks intrigued. “Have you seen snow before?”

“I lived in New York before, what do you think,” you grumble.

“I thought you came up from Texas,” John protests.

“No, I-- it’s complicated or something, okay.”

“That just means you don’t feel like explaining it.”

Naemi laughs. “I’ll go tell Kar and Sol you’re here!”

She bounds off into the house. You glance after her as John shows you where to hang your coat. “... How old is she?”

“Naemi? Oh, gosh. I think she’s a sophomore,” he says. “Yeah, she’s pretty small and she acts like a little kid sometimes but don’t let her fool you! She’s actually pretty smart.”

“Huh,” you say.

“Also,” John leans in like he’s sharing some huge secret with you, and whispers, “If she asks if you want to see her shipping wall, _say no_.”

“If I want to see her _what?_ ”

“Her shipping wall, it’s-- never mind hi again Naemi are they just upstairs in Kar’s room?” John straightens and steps away from you, smiling innocently.

“Yup! Come on!” Naemi grabs you by the wrist and drags you through their living room, up a flight of stairs and halfway down the hall before knocking loudly and obnoxiously on a door. “Hey, Kar!”

“What!” somebody inside the room (presumably “Kar”) yells.

“John and his friend are here, open the doooor!”

There’s a lot of grumbling and things that sound like complaints from within the room. After a minute, the door opens. The guy who opened it stares at you suspiciously for a second, then turns to John.

“Did it occur to you that maybe I’d want to _know_ you were bringing a stranger into my house, asshole?”

John tries to look apologetic. It clashes terribly with the grin. “Sorry?”

“Whatever, just come in already, don’t let Naem--”

“I’ll get you all some tea!” Naemi declares, dashing down the stairs again.

“We don’t NEED any fucking tea, Naemi, christ!” the boy in the door shouts after her. It rings throughout the house ( _and your ears_ ) for a moment, but she doesn’t offer up a response. “Ugh. Hurry up and get in here so I can lock her out.”

John drags you into the room with him; you hear the door lock behind you, but you’re too busy absorbing your new surroundings to pay it much attention. This room is a _disaster_. There is a clean corner, however, where a pile of cushions and a TV have been established. Another boy sits there, drumming his fingers against a controller boredly. The game on the screen is paused.

“Hey, John,” he says. Then he spots you and raises his eyebrows. “Now who the hell is this?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” the first guy growls, from _right fucking behind you_ and really nobody should blame you if you automatically tense.

“Wow, guys, really, just chill out,” John snorts. He shoves you towards the pile of cushions, but it’s only after he’s settled down on one that you follow his example. “What, do you think I’d bring over a serial killer or something?”

“Wouldn’t put it past you,” the guy with the controller shrugs.

“Hurtful!” John complains.

“Dave Strider,” you offer.

“Sol Captor,” controller-guy says. 

“ _Sol_ Captor, in case you couldn’t tell around his god-awful lisp,” (“ _Hey!_ ”) the guy who’s still standing corrects, flopping down on a cushion between John and Sol. “The name is Karson Vantas.”

“Captor and Vantas, got it,” you say.

Then Sol throws a controller at you.

“Alright, we might as well just restart the round for you two,” he announces, leaning over to reset the console. “Hope you like shooting stuff.”

You’ve been playing for maybe fifteen minutes when the doorknob clicks, then rattles viciously. It’s followed by a distressed “ _Kaaaa-aaaaar!_ ”

“Go _away_ , Naemi,” Kar calls without turning away from the TV. “Fucking-- quit _cheating_ , Captor, how the hell are you even doing that?”

“Karkittyyyyyyy,” his sister wails through the door.

“‘Karkitty’?” you repeat.

Sol shrugs. “Naem has an affinity for cat-related things.”

“And tea,” John adds. “And _shipping_.”

“We’re not going to talk about the shipping,” Sol insists.

“Are we talking about the kind of shipping I think we’re talking about or--”

“ _Kar_ , if you don’t let me in I’m going to tell Dad!” Naemi threatens.

“Go ahead and _tell_ Dad,” Kar shoots back. “God, how old _are_ you, eight?”

There’s a lull in the game’s sound effects, in which you can hear what is distinctly recognizable as a girl sniffling despondently. “I just wanted to bring you guys some tea...”

“We don’t _want_ tea,” Kar growls.

“ _I_ want tea,” you say, out of nowhere, just because you feel like being contrary. You start to stand. Sol dives for your ankle, and you swear as he almost  knocks you over. “Okay, what the hell?”

“Don’t do it, dude, the tea is a lie!”

“The tea is-- oh my _god_ , seriously--”

“Kar, no,” John laughs. “Don’t go for their characters while they’re distracted!”

“Fair’s fair,” Kar mutters.

“Dave!” Naemi crows. “Let me in!”

“I-- fuck you, let _go_ of me,” you kick at Sol irritably, but his grip on your leg only tightens. “What do you mean, _the tea is a lie?!_ ”

“She’s luring you out with the promise of hot drinks, but when you get out there she’ll drag you off to her room and force you to look at--”

“ _Sol!_ ” Naemi protests.

“God forbid he exposes your schemes for what they are,” Kar gripes. “Come on, Strider, just give up, it’s not worth the risk.”

You kick again, and this time Sol is surprised enough that you can jerk free. You start to scramble to your feet.

Then John takes you out at the knees and you both topple to the floor with a resounding _crash_.

“Idiots,” Kar says.

You can hold your own in a fight, but you don’t actually want to _hurt_ John, and you don’t _think_ you want to hurt Sol (yet), so they manage to wrestle you back over to the gaming corner.

“This is absolutely ridiculous,” you say. John’s torso is draped across your crossed legs to prevent another escape attempt, and when he laughs, the shaking jostles you, too. You try to shift so that your knee isn’t digging into his stomach, and ignore the prickle at the base of your neck that always comes from uninvited physical interactions from people you’re not entirely familiar with.

“We’re just trying to protect you, Dave!”

“You cannot convince me that’s comfortable,” Kar deadpans, glancing at John’s position. “He looks almost as bony as Captor.”

“Fuck you, too, Kar,” Sol snorts. “I’m perfectly comfortable.”

“To your _self_ , maybe.”

The door opens.

You all stop what you’re doing to twist and stare.

Theresa stands in the doorway, hands on her hips, as Naemi cheers behind her. “Hello, boys! I see you’re having tons of fun _without_ me.”

“Your own damn fault for being late,” Kar informs her, watching his stepsister warily. “Don’t let Naem in, Egbert brought a new guy over and we’re trying to save him the mental trauma.”

Resa sniffs the air delicately, then breaks into that familiar crocodile grin. “Mr.Strawberry-Peach-Lemonade!”

“Strawberry?” Sol looks amused.

“I was wearing a red shirt when we met, I think,” you mumble.

“But you still smell like strawberries,” Resa insists, coming over to crouch beside you and sniff at you. _Shit too close too close too close--_ you force yourself to relax, but your hands are twitching with the effort. “Hmm...”

“It’s his shampoo,” John provides, lazily, from your lap. You whack him across the head lightly. Resa cackles, ruffling at your hair until you bat her away, too.

“No, that’s not it either.”

“Jesus, Resa, quit slobbering all over him,” Kar grumbles, finally giving up and just turning off the game. “So he smells like strawberries, so what?”

“Jealous, Karkles?” she drawls. She then proceeds to drape herself across your back. Now you’re _really_ tense. “Oooh, Mr.Strider, ooooh....”

“Is she making you uncomfortable yet?” Sol snickers.

“I have passed uncomfortable by about ten thousand miles,” you grunt, trying to support her weight in the awkward position without doubling over and crushing John. “Egbert, tell me why you thought this would be a good idea.”

“You needed to get out of the house,” he says. He twists enough to give you a grin. “I regret nothing.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” you grumble. _You_ regret _everything_ , how did he _get_ you here this is _so_ far out of your comfort zone--

“Dave, Dave,” Naemi tries to tug at your sleeve between the Johns and Theresas that are all over you. “Do you want to see--”

“No he doesn’t,” Kar says immediately. After a moment his brow furrows, and he glowers at Resa. “How’d you get in, anyway?”

“Picked the lock,” she says, shamelessly.

“And you always go on about the sweet, sweet justice of the law,” Sol shakes his head solemnly. “For shame, Resa.”

“To best take down the guilty piece by piece, you must understand their methods.”

She’s practically talking _against your skin_ and you are really just _not_ comfortable with this at all.

“Dave,” John says, frowning up at you. “Are you--”

“Hey, Dave--”

Naemi thrusting herself into your personal space is apparently just the last straw, because the next thing you know you’re dimly aware of startled yelps and crashes and you’re halfway down the stairs. You stop and grip the railing until your knuckles are white. Okay. Deep breaths. What the fuck just happened? Did you flashstep? You must’ve flashstepped. _Why_ did you flashstep?

“Dave?”

You turn. John’s standing at the top of the stairs, looking concerned.

“Dude, are you okay?”

Shrug.

He comes down a few steps, then hesitates and gives you a small smile. “Baby steps. Right. Hey, I’m just going to say bye to Kar and the others and then we can go home, okay?”

“I, uh...” you start to say, then decide it’s stupid; but now John’s attention is on you, so you force yourself to mumble, “Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” he says patiently, before disappearing into Kar’s room again.You slump against the wall in defeat, eyes closed, massaging your temples. You don’t open your eyes until a tentative hand brushes your shoulder. You accept the hand John offers you, and he helps you stagger back to your feet.

You’re halfway home before he says anything.

“Has that happened before?”

“Naw,” you say quietly, tugging at the edges of your scarf. “Never really been around people I didn’t know for very long before.”

“So you think it’s just because you don’t know the--... us very well?” he asks, and you immediately feel awful because fuck, he’s blaming himself for this now, isn’t he?

“Wasn’t you,” you say. You stare straight ahead when you continue. “I don’t really... know what it was. But it wasn’t you.”

John is quiet for a long, anxious moment, then he finally just smiles and says, “Okay.”

And that’s that.

 

You think about it for the rest of the afternoon. Two in the morning finds you sprawled over the sofa, staring at the ceiling with your laptop shut in your lap. Even researching random shit for your history class has not been enough to distract you.

It just _doesn’t make any sense_.

You know you’re not really _that_ used to physical interactions, aside from fighting, playful or violent. Bro has not, with the exception of a few breakdowns, ever been too much of a touchy-feely guy. Your brotherly hugs and cuddles trickled to an end by the time you were nine. Roxy and Jane hug you, sure, and Roxy does the same thing Resa did-- completely draping herself over your back-- when she’s drunk. But until you were sixteen you were only seeing them twice a year.

Which still isn’t an excuse, because when Bro or Roxy or Jane or, hell, Rose or _Jake_ for god’s sake initiate random physical displays of affection, it doesn’t bother you. And you didn’t freak out when you woke up with John sleeping on your shoulder in the police station.

Maybe it was some sort of sensory overload? Too much happening at once, too many people and movements and voices and sensations? That seems... plausible. Maybe. Your eyes stray down to the laptop sitting on your thighs.

You should probably try to sleep.

Oh, what the hell. No you shouldn’t. This is more important than a few hours of shuteye.

You flip open the laptop and hit the power button. Time for some impromptu research. Let’s see what the internet thinks of sensory overload combined with teenage boys who don’t know how to socialize.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't feel like I did Dave's mindset in this any justice at all, but I think/hope the general feeling was conveyed so uh. Yeah.  
> Concrit is, as always, very very greatly appreciated.  
> Also Naemi = Nepeta in case nobody caught that.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tale of two teenage boys who don't know what the fuck they're doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA 7/8/2015: trigger warning for discussion/implication of death.

ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

EB: dave.

TG: egbert

TG: thought you were at the movies

TG: what happened

TG: do i need to come bail you out of jail

EB: geez, no. nothing like that. nothing at all, actually!!!

EB: can’t i just want to talk to my roommate?

TG: you never text unless you want me to do something

TG: im not going to the movies

TG: no way in hell

EB: bluuuuuh. i don’t see why not.

EB: you could sit at the end of the aisle and i’d sit on your other side, i wouldn’t let them surround you again.

EB: besides, it’s been a whole week, haven’t you chilled out a little?

TG: thats not how it works dude

EB: well, at the very least you could get behind our beautiful, sophisticated selection of films.

TG: die

EB: rude.

EB: actually though resa wants your pesterchum handle and i thought i’d check with you first.

TG: jonathan egbert actually considering somebody might not want to be pestered to death over inane things

TG: its the first sign of the apocalypse everybody get in the fucking spaceships

TG: we cant stay on earth much longer

EB: you are the worst, dave. it is you.

EB: so i take it i can give it to her? it’s hard to tell what you’re really trying to say through all this bullshit.

TG: isnt she just reading it over your shoulder anyway

EB: no, i’m shielding my phone from her.

EB: she says your text smells delicious, though.

TG: how is that creepy

TG: that shouldnt be creepy

TG: why do i think thats creepy

EB: haha, she liiiiiiiikes you.

TG: wh

TG: okay what no thats dumb

TG: weve met all of twice

TG: and the second time i flipped my shit at her

TG: albeit unintentionally

TG: you know that

TG: you were there

EB: jesus, dave, chill out. i was just joking around.

EB: i think she does like you though. in a friend-way.

EB: friiiiiends, dave.

EB: these people whose company you enjoy...

EB: who you occasionally hang out with...

EB: instead of sulking around the house all day...

TG: god dammit

TG: you know what

TG: weve already talked about this

TG: if it didnt stick in your empty little head the first time then thats just too bad

EB: hey.

EB: my head is not empty.

TG: sometimes i wonder

EB: ruuuuude.

TG: whatever

TG: go ahead and tell resa my handle

TG: or dont

TG: instead you could just watch your movie with your friends and not fuss at me any more thatd be cool too

EB: SOMEBODY has to do it.

TG: rose already has the monopoly on that market bro

TG: also bro and lalonde sr and crocker and english

TG: five somebodies

TG: im pretty much covered

EB: you don’t just not make any more friends because you think you “have enough” or something dumb like that.

EB: that isn’t how friendship works.

TG: isnt it though

TG: quality over quantity or some shit like that

EB: uuuuuuugh.

EB: you’re really frustrating sometimes, you know?

EB: why me? why weren’t you this aggravating about meeting me?

TG: i was kind of too preoccupied with the whole vomiting deal to be worrying about anything else

TG: in case you forgot

EB: ew.

EB: but the next morning?

EB: you let me sleep on your shoulder!

TG: and then what did they tell you

EB: oh.

TG: yeah

TG: see i can be sensitive

TG: i can let the guy who put up with me while i was puking have a few more minutes of peace and quiet before he gets an emotional knee to the groin

ectoBiologist [EB] is now an idle chum! 

TG: oh

TG: fuck

TG: egbert i

TG: shit

TG: dude come back im sorry

TG: i didnt mean to bring that back up

TG: shit

 

gallowsCalibrator [GC] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

GC: D4V3

GC: WH4T D1D YOU S4Y TO JOHN?

TG: fuck

TG: is he okay

GC: H3 1S SORT OF SH4KING HYST3R1C4LLY 1N TH3 CORN3R R1GHT NOW

GC: K4R TR13D TO 4SK WH4T W4S WRONG

GC: 4ND H3 S4ID H3 D1DNT KNOW WH3TH3R TO ST4RT L4UGH1NG OR CRY1NG

TG: shitfuck

TG: im such a fucking idiot

GC: 1 C4N N31TH3R 4GR33 NOR D1S4AGR33 W1TH TH1S ST4T3M3NT UNT1L SOM3ON3 T3LLS M3 WH4T H4PP3N3D

GC: YOUR T3XT SM3LLS D3L1C1OUS BY TH3 W4Y

TG: yeah you type like a tool by the way

TG: the hell are you doing

TG: who let you have a phone if you text like that

GC: >:]

GC: YOU 4R3 1NTR1GU3D BY 1T, YOU MUST 4DM1T

TG: intrigued about the fact that nobodys confiscated the fucking thing from you yeah

GC: V3RON1C4 S4YS SH3S GO1NG TO B34T TH3 SH1T OUT OF YOU

GC: JUST 4S 4 F41R W4RN1NG

TG: dont have a damn clue who that is

TG: is egbert doing okay

GC: Y3S

GC: H3 1S C4LM1NG DOWN 4 L1TTLE

GC: H3 ST1LL WONT T3LL US WH4T YOU S41D THOUGH

GC: 1 TH1NK SOL 1S TH1NK1NG 4BOUT H4CK1NG 1NTO H1S PHON3 TO R34D YOUR CONV3RS4T1ON

TG: invasion of privacy much

GC: TH3 PROB4BL3 4LT3RN4T1V3 1S SOM3BODY JUST ST3AL1NG H1S PHON3 TO LOOK THROUGH 1T TH3R3

TG: youre telling me these things

TG: im not sure you realize i cant do jack shit about any of it

TG: since im

TG: yknow

TG: not there and all

GC: TH3R3 4R3 TWO W4YS TO F1X TH4T

TG: are there really

TG: tell me i am so desperate to know

GC: 1 DONT KNOW

GC: YOU D1D S33M A L1TTL3 D3SP3R4T3 WH3N 1 F1RST T3XT3D YOU

GC: >:0

GC: COULD 1T B3 TH4T YOU W3R3 WORR13D 4BOUT JOHN, BUT NOW TH4T YOU KNOW H3S OK4Y YOU 4R3 TRY1NG TO COV3R YOUR TR4CKS?

TG: i have lalonde to psychoanalyze the shit out of my every breath thank you very much

TG: this is surplus psychoanalyzation

GC: 4NYW4Y, B4CK TO F1X1NG TH1S

GC: YOU C4N M33T UP W1TH US 4T TH3 MOV13 TH3AT3R

GC: TH4T WOULD CH33R JOHN UP 4LMOST INST4NTLY 1 B3T

GC: 1F YOU SHOW3D UP TO 4POLOG1Z3 FOR TH3 WH4T3V3R 1N P3RSON

TG: are you doing what i think you are

GC: SHUT UP 1M NOT DON3

GC: TH3 OTH3R OPT1ON

GC: 1NVOLV3S YOU T3LL1NG M3 WH4T YOU S41D

GC: SO TH3 R3ST OF US C4N DO TH3 COMFORT1NG 1N YOUR ST34D

GC: WH1L3 YOU S1T 4ROUND W4LLOWING IN GUILT

TG: you are doing what i think you are

TG: jesus fuck

TG: youre seriously trying to guilt me

GC: 1S 1T WORK1NG

TG: no

TG: stop it

TG: leave egbert alone

TG: leave me alone

TG: and watch your goddamn movie

GC: WH4T

GC: >:[

GC: HOW C4N 1T NOT B3 WORK1NG?

TG: i am guilt resistant

TG: have you ever successfully guilted rose

GC: NO

TG: well there you go

TG: it runs in the family

GC: YOU KNOW WH4T 1 TH1NK

GC: 1 TH1NK YOU 4R3 F33L1NG GU1LTY

GC: BUT YOUR3 R3PR3SS1NG 1T FOR SOM3 R34SON

TG: have you been talking to my sister

GC: NO

GC: 1 F1GUR3D 1T OUT 4LL BY MYS3LF

GC: DO YOU N33D D1R3CT1ONS OR C4N YOU F1ND TH3 TH3AT3R ON YOUR OWN

TG: fuck you im not coming

GC: SO YOUR3 GO1NG W1TH OPT1ON TWO TH3N?

TG: im going with option three

TG: none of the goddamn above

TG: with a side of it isnt any of your business

TG: you know what im just going to turn my phone off

GC: NO!

GC: 1F YOU DO 1LL

GC: 1LL G1V3 K4R YOUR H4NDL3

GC: 4ND 1LL T3LL ROS3 YOUR3 B31NG 4N 4SSHOL3

TG: oh no how scary

TG: dont tell rose and kar

TG: anything but that

GC: COM3 ON D4V3 W3R3 JUST WORR13D 4BOUT H1M

TG: i am insulted on egberts behalf

TG: he can take care of himself

TG: hes a big boy

TG: he doesnt need you fussing over him

GC: 4R3 YOU B31NG D1FF1CULT FOR TH3 S4K3 OF B31NG D1FF1CULT?

GC: B3C4US3 TH4TS WH4T 1T F33LS L1K3

GC: SH1T

GC: JOHN D1S4PP34R3D

GC: K4R JUST GOT 4 T3XT S4Y1NG H3S SORRY BUT H3 N33D3D TO GO HOM3 QU1CK

GC: BUT YOU KNOW WH4T 1 TH1NK?

GC: 1 TH1NK H3S GO1NG TO YOUR PL4C3

TG: oh

TG: so he hasnt told you

TG: okay thats cool

TG: thats chill

TG: the chillest in fact

TG: but yeah i guess i got shit to do now

TG: so bye

GC: W41T

GC: WH4T H4SNT H3 TOLD US

TG: well shit if he hasnt told you then its hardly my place to second guess his decisions is it

TG: hell tell you when hes ready

TG: probably

GC: YOU 4R3 1NSUFF3R4BL3

turntechGodhead [TG] is now an idle chum!

GC: WH3N V3RON1C4 TR4CKS YOU DOWN TO B34T YOU TO 4 BLOODY PULP

GC: 1 W1LL B3 R1GHT B3H1ND H3R

gallowsCalibrator [GC] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

 

EB: dave?

TG: egbert

TG: dude i am so sorry

EB: that’s nice, dave, but can we talk about it later?

TG: i

TG: yeah sure whatever you want

EB: where are you? the door is locked and you’re not answering when i knock.

TG: across the street

TG: hold on im coming over

EB: okay.

ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

 

“We need to get you a key,” you say as you unlock the front door, because it distracts you from how shaken John looks or how you’re so... nervous, worried, _something_ that your hands are shaking.

“Hm,” John murmurs.

The house is incredibly dark, which only makes sense because _duh_ , it’s winter, of course the sun sets earlier. Even if it _is_ only six thirty. There is absolutely nothing unsettling about a dark, empty house, because hey, you can logically explain everything that makes it dark and empty and therefore nothing is left to the imagination to be unsettled by.

Obviously.

The first thing you do after shutting the door behind you is turn on all the goddamn lights.

“Have you eaten yet?” you ask John, a little distractedly, as you extricate the laptop’s power cord from the pile of wires and dust by the sofa where it’s fallen.

“Huh? Oh, no,” he laughs awkwardly. “Have you? Wait, who am I kidding, of course you haven’t. I’ll, um... go heat up some leftovers.”

“Fine. Sounds... good.”

The power cord lights up when you attach it, a cheerful announcement that it has properly connected and is successfully communicating with the computer. The same probably can’t be said for you and John, which is absolutely ridiculous because you’re a fucking adult and he’s almost a fucking adult and you’re not awkward preteens _damn_ it. You should be able to have a calm, meaningful conversation about what idiots you both are without dancing around it and accidentally-intentionally poking at each other’s emotional bruises like this. You _should_. Why _can’t_ you?

You’re still crouched there, glaring at your laptop in confusion, when it hits you like a brick to the head; you don’t know about John, but _you_ don’t know what you’re doing because you’ve never _done_ this before.

The more you think about it the more it makes sense. You’ve never fought with Jake or Jane before ( _save for that incident when Jake got back from exploring the Pacific and shit happened and you had a strife to keep him out of Bro’s bedroom-- but that was all physical, no messy emotions_ ). You’ve certainly fought with the Lalondes-- you challenge _anyone_ to know Rose and Roxy for as long as you have and not get in fights with them-- but there wasn’t really _resolving_ involved. You would exchange words, avoid each other for a few hours, then the girl in question would wander through the room, take one look at you and mutter “why do I even try” and kiss your forehead and wander out again and that would be that. Fights with Bro were standoffs with clenched jaws and gritted teeth. Less communication, more glaring, really. Eventually, one of you would just cave, let your jaw soften and lower your head in surrender. If the fight was over something logical, there was no guessing at the victor; if the fight was over something illogical, Bro always won.

The point is that you have never needed to try to apologize and fix things or explain yourself to anyone. Up to this point, all the people worth fighting with have just _understood_.

You decide you are already having too much of a what-are-these-feelings panic attack already without putting much thought into the fact that you apparently consider John worth fighting with, and it would really not be beneficial to either of you if you decided to freak out over that, too.

The microwave begins beeping obnoxiously. You stumble to your feet and into the kitchen, where John is swearing at the leftovers he’s trying to maneuver from the microwave without burning himself.

“There are potholders into the cupboard with the flour,” you advise. John snorts as he fetches them.

“Why do you keep them with the flour?”

“I don’t know, dude, _I_ don’t cook. Ask Bro. What’d you pick?”

“The chicken and rice from Tuesday,” he says, taking two dishes out and filling them with fluffy white rice and overcooked chicken. He jabs forks into them and passes one to you. “Eat up.”

You poke tentatively at your food. You’re not really hungry, but you know it will make him ( _and Rose, and Jane, and probably Bro and Jake and Roxy_ ) happy if you at least try to have dinner, so you nibble at it. You’ve eaten maybe half your rice and barely touched your chicken when he finishes.

Your fork clatters against the table when you try to take his dish from him. He scoffs and moves it out of the way.

“I’m your roommate, not your guest. Let me clean up after myself.”

You grumble a little, but slowly take up your fork again while he rinses his dish. “Speaking of roommates... You haven’t told your friends you’re living here.”

He startles, then laughs in disbelief. “How on Earth did _that_ come up?”

“I was texting Theresa when you bailed on them,” you admit mildly. “She said you had texted them saying you were going home, but she was suspicious you were actually going to my house. She didn’t know it was the same place.”

He’s quiet for a moment. You look up from your food to see him drying his hands on the kitchen towel, still facing away from you. The moment passes, and without turning around, he says, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You don’t want to talk about _this_ with _me_ or you don’t want to talk about... _it_ with _them_?”

“I don’t want to talk about _it_ with _them_ ,” John clarifies. He sits back down, then, but before you have a chance to study his expression he’s changed it to a pointed look at your food. “Dave, seriously, I thought you didn’t mind the chicken and rice.”

Your hand jerks to a pause where it’s been absentmindedly pushing the rice around the dish. “Not that hungry,” you mumble bashfully.

He sighs but grins, grabs your dish from you and starts slipping the leftover food back into the tupperware it had been in in the fridge. “Thanks for trying, I guess.”

After he shuts the fridge again, silence reigns over the kitchen. His hand is still loosely wrapped around the fridge’s door handle, and he hasn’t turned back towards you-- an observation you only briefly make before you return to staring at your hands, which are folded awkwardly in your lap. The silence is getting kind of heavy. It’s not awkward, not the way you usually think of awkward, but it’s-- it’s _uncomfortable_. It feels like somebody’s set something cast in iron on your shoulders, and now you can’t ease the tension in them or risk having the whatever-it-is slip and crush you. Logically, you should remove the weight, lift it somehow, but the potential to try and end up fucking up even worse is somehow more terrifying than leaving it straining at your shoulders.

“I,” John says, hesitates, then continues, voice barely above a whisper. “Not your fault.”

“In what way,” you deadpan, your disbelief crowding manners out of your brain.

“You didn’t mean to,” he swallows, _hard_ , “ _remind_ me. You were just trying to get me off your case.”

“That doesn’t grant me unlimited rights to being an asshole.”

“I was being an asshole, too.” He lets his hand fall from the door, and walks back around the table until he’s standing by you. “You can’t deny that.”

“I can deny whatever the hell I want to,” you snap, pulling your feet up onto the chair so you can wrap your arms around your knees defensively. John laughs a little at that. When a tentative hand settles on your shoulder, you’re startled to feel some of the tension bleed out of you.

“You lost people you loved, too,” he murmurs. “How long were you running away from him?”

“Only a couple years,” you mutter. He laughs again, this time in disbelief.

“ _Only?_ ”

“Shut up, whatever,” you sigh, and he squeezes your shoulder. “...When’s the will going to be read?”

“...Next Thursday.”

“You gonna take the house if he gave it to you?”

“I don’t think I _can_ ,” he admits. “What would I have to pay for-- mortgage, bills, insurance, Jade and Bec and Casey... I’m a high school student, it’s not _possible_ for me to get a job that would cover all that.”

There’s a beat of silence while you consider that, and then John’s hand falls from your shoulder as he mumbles, “I mean... If you don’t want me to stay here, I’m sure Jade and I could find someplace el--”

“No! Jesus,” you blurt out, grabbing his hand instinctively. He blinks at you in surprise. “I-- fuck. We’re not going to kick you out. I was just curious.”

This time, his chuckling sounds warm and relieved and genuinely amused. He crushes your clasped hands between you when he bends down to hug the shit out of you. “You’re _weird_ , Dave.”

“Douchebag, that’s not the right way to respond to someone who’s trying to make you feel better,” you complain half-heartedly, letting your head rest against his shoulder.

“Like you know anything about the right way to respond to people,” he snickers. You sit there for a quiet minute or two, doing something that feels suspiciously like enjoying human contact, before John pulls away to flick your forehead.

“Ow!” You slap the hand away, scowling up at him in confusion. “Dickwad, what was that for?”

“I have no idea what the hell I’m going to tell my friends the next time I see them,” he says cheerfully, almost more to himself than you. “Also, hey, you totally owe me a movie viewing now.”

“I’m sorry, we don’t keep your particular brand of shitty cinema in this house.”

“Rude! That’s okay, though. _I_ have my particular brand of shitty cinema. It’s in that box I hid under your desk.”

“You did not just tell me you’ve been keeping Nic Cage movies in my room against my wishes.”

“I did,” he says, smugly. “And guess what?”

“What?”

“It’s not your room anymore. It’s _ours_.”

You don’t have any clever retorts for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: the extent of my knowledge about the legal process with wills after someone dies is that it's very complicated, and involves courts and executors and stuff. If anyone would like to offer their knowledge on the topic, or correct any mistakes I make when I get around to that, I would be very, very grateful!  
> As always, constructive criticism would be excellent.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly fluff, I'm not going to lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean it guys, I really am open to pairing suggestions! I'm not too fussy about who's paired with who (aside from the focus pairing, and those already established in the prequels), myself, so I have been really indecisive about this.  
> ETA 7/8/2015: trigger warning for brief mention of death.

You decide it’s time to take a break from being Dave Strider. Except you were never Dave Strider in the first place, because _duh_ , you’re John Egbert! You can’t take a break from being something you’ve never been!

Anyway, your name is John Egbert and you are _really fucking excited._

“Dave! Dave, get up, get up!”

“Mmmmngh, no, why...”

You try to drag the covers off him. He growls dangerously, holding them to himself more tightly. This would probably be easier if he was on the bed or the couch, you think in despair. Stupid Dave and his stupid pile of soft fluffy warm things that’s in the corner where it’s hard to force him to move! You would just pick him up except usually you only try that when he’s asleep and you don’t have to worry about how cooperative he’s feeling, and also he’s so ensconced in blankets you can’t really tell where he starts and ends.

One scarlet eye cracks open just enough to glare at you.

“Come on,” you wheedle. You stick your hand under the blankets and feel around until you’ve got a fistful of Dave’s shirt, and you yank at it in an attempt to draw him out of the nest.

“ _Hell_ nay,” he grumbles, voice catching oddly as he tries to speak coherently when he’s evidently still half asleep. “If it’s not an emergency I’m not goin’ anywhere. It’s...” here he squints in the direction of the digital clock on his bedside table. “Jesus fucking christ. Eight in the morning on a Saturday. The house better be burning down, Egbert.”

“Of course it’s not, gosh, like I would stand around arguing with you while the house was on fire,” you scoff.

“I don’t know, would you?”

“No, I’d just carry you out princess-style.”

He snorts a little and burrows his head back into the mess of blankets and pillows.

“Daa-aaaave...”

“No. Shut up. It’s cold out there.”

“But do you know _whyyy_ it’s so cold?” you chirp, grinning from ear to ear as you sprawl out alongside him on the floor.

“Because it’s goddamn December in Washington fucking state?” he guesses.

“Nope!”

“Well, damn, I’m stumped. Look, I don’t care, it’s cold, I’m tired, it’s Saturday. There’s abso-fucking-lutely no reason for me to leave this spot.”

“But it finally snowed!” you whine.

“Jesus.” He finally sits up a little, blinking blearily at the window. “Did it really?”

You take advantage of being able to see the upper half of his body by scrambling to your feet, grabbing him under the arms and bodily hauling him upright, even as he squirms and swears at you.

“You suck,” he informs you.

“I know,” you say, smugly, as you tug him over to the window by his sleeve. “Look, look, isn’t it great?”

“It’s white,” he says. He squints against the glare of sun off the ice. “And cold.”

“Don’t you start with me,” you warn, even as you let him pull the cord on the blinds to shut them again. “It was _supposed_ to snow like this _last_ Saturday, you’ve had an entire extra week of... oh my God, seriously. You’re really going to go back to bed.”

“Eight in the morning on a Saturday,” Dave repeats. He crawls back into his nest. “Also, in case you didn’t hear me the last three times, it’s cold.”

“It was cold yesterday and you got out of bed,” you wheedle.

“That was before the world froze over,” he insists, voice muffled under the layer of blankets now covering his head.

“The world _didn’t_ freeze over,” you protest. “Just the state.”

Dave’s hand makes a brief reappearance to flip you off before it once again retreats into the pile of blankets.

You let a big, disappointed sigh hurtle out of your lungs, and turn to the closet to start digging around for a change of clothes. As awesome as your old t-shirt and boxers are, they’re not really suitable for frolicking in the snow! You find a nice, warm blue fleece pullover to put on over your turtleneck, then drop to your knees to find your boots in the mess that the closet floor has become.

“You’re really going to go out there,” Dave observes. He sounds like he’s in disbelief. You throw him a grin, over your shoulder, and are rewarded with the sight of him sitting upright with his blankets wrapped around him like a burrito.

“Oh my God. That’s... okay, that’s kind of adorable,” you laugh. He scowls at you ferociously and glances around. Well, you know what _that’s_ about. “I moved your shades to the bedside table. Decided not to go back to sleep after all?”

“You’re making too much goddamn noise over there,” he mutters, somehow finding his way to his feet and over to his shades without tripping over the blankets. “Do you have a death wish?”

“Dave, I realize you are kind of pathetic when faced with cold weather, but this is just one of many differences between us.”

“What are you even going to _do_ out there?”

“I’m going to get Jade and Rose and go to the park,” you say.

“I refuse to believe my sister is really that stupid,” Dave says.

“Gosh, you’re really no fun at all,” you grumble, turning back to the closet. You can hear him come up a few paces behind you.

“Look, you’re wearing a turtleneck and a sweater, and you’ll probably also be wearing a coat, and you’re _still going back for another sweater_. What should this be telling you, Egbert.”

“It should be telling me you should shut up already,” you sniff. You find what you want and throw it at him. Unfortunately, his reflexes lead him to catch it instead of the comical face-is-covered-with-fabric-oh-no-flail situation you were sort of hoping for.

“The fuck is this?” he wrinkles his nose at it, holding it out in front of himself suspiciously. “Doesn’t look that comfortable.”

“It’s a wool sweater, which you will obviously need because for all your whining about the cold I just watched you put on a short-sleeved shirt,” you inform him. His head shifts back, an apparent sign that he’s focusing on you again.

“You seriously believe I’m going to come out in the cold and act like five-year-olds with you and the girls,” he says.

“Pretty much,” you admit.

“That’s... really stupid. Why.”

“Because shut up, shut up is why.”

“Egbert, no. Seriously--”

“-- I will make whatever food you want for breakfast or lunch tomorrow if you just shut up and come along, Dave.”

He shuts his mouth to consider.

“This would be for something your sister is probably going to force you to do either way.”

“I didn’t think you were willing to stoop to bribery.”

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

“All this trouble just so you can stuff snow down the back of my shirt?”

You can’t help snickering at that. “You know, I hadn’t thought of that, but it’s a great idea. Really kind of tempting. Thanks, dude.”

“Glad I could be of service,” he mutters. “Breakfast _or_ lunch?”

“Whichever you prefer. Not both,” you add, firmly. “You can’t pick both.”

“This better be the best breakfast I’ve ever tasted,” Dave informs you, and pulls the wool sweater over his head.

 

Your name is Dave Strider and it is cold as balls.

“Okay, I don’t want to insult your manly pride or anything here by insinuating you can’t handle the cold, but why the hell don’t you have on a hat or gloves.”

“Because fuck you,” you mumble into your scarf. Your breath floats away in a little cloud. Despite the fact that you are decidedly not eight anymore, the temptation to pretend to be a dragon is astounding. You file it away in your brain under _Ironic Gestures: Maybe Later_. You haven’t been obsessed with irony in just about forever, but you can’t be bothered renaming your carefully organized mental system.

“Go back to the house and get a hat and gloves. We’ll wait for you,” John insists. Currently you’re standing on the Crocker-Lalondes’ front porch, waiting for your goddamn sisters to come outside and get a move on. It feels like the house is mocking you with the warmth it surely contains, while you stand out here turning into a Davesicle because apparently you just can’t say no to John. Or the promise of an all-out breakfast.

“Don’t have any,” you admit.

“Any... Shit, Dave. Washington in the winter and you don’t even have a pair of gloves?”

“Mmmmffffeh,” you reply, more to your scarf than John.

He leans in, eyebrow cocked expectantly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

“I _said_ ,” you grouse, “Not to worry because I’m sure my darling, beautiful baby sister has a solution.”

“I hope it’s fluffy and pink,” he deadpans.

“Shit, man, I hope so too. Doesn’t get much better than that.”

The door swings open before John can respond, and you dive past whichever lady opened it to crouch by the heating vent. Jane squawks in motherly horror as she’s shutting the door behind John.

“Young man, where in heaven’s name is your hat?”

“Hmm,” you mumble, too busy soaking in the heat to actually formulate a response. You only turn away at the sound of a half-hearted, rumbling growl. Bec gives you a disdainful sneer from the couch, but makes no move to get up. You tense anyway. John reaches down to squeeze your shoulder.

“He won’t,” he says. “He recognizes you now.”

“The fuck can you tell?” you mutter, still watching the dog warily.

“Well--”

John’s hand is wrenched away from your shoulder as his sister throws herself at him.

“Guh-- _Jade_ ,” he half-gasps, half-laughs. Somehow he catches her. Somehow. “Get off me, you are way heavier than you think you are!”

“Are you calling me fat, John?” Jade gasps in mock offense. She leans more of her weight into him. He groans in despair but otherwise only shifts her weight. Gotta admit you’re impressed. “Hey, where’d Jane go?”

“She was impressing upon me the importance of headwear in the cold Washington climate,” Rose says. She gives you an innocent smile and holds something out to you. Something fluffy and pink.

“Shit,” you say, standing again as you admire the goddamn great pair of earmuffs you have just been handed. “It’s like Christmas all up in here.”

“Not for another week, brother dear.” Rose smiles, takes the earmuffs back from you, and reaches up to situate them on your head. “There, don’t you look handsome. Roxy, doesn’t he look handsome?”

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” Roxy cackles from... somewhere.

“Shame on you, you’re not even looking.”

“Dirk was right,” Jane says, absentmindedly, as she reaches over to fuss with your scarf (“Thanks, _mom._ ”). “I had no idea what I was getting myself into when I agreed to keep both Lalondes under the same roof.”

“I feel the utmost sympathy for you,” you say, airily, insincerely. She pinches your cheek in retaliation. You grumble and swat her hand away.

“Put something on your hands, too.”

“Don’t have anything.”

“Rose?”

“I’ve only got one pair of gloves,” your sister says apologetically.

“No, wait, hold on, I might have something!” Jade dashes around a corner and disappears. A moment later, she reappears, waving something green and white in your face. “Here you go! Mittens!”

They’re thick, woolen, probably very very warm. They’re also bright green with cats on them. Not as good as fluffy and pink, but pretty goddamn close.

“Alright,” you deadpan, pulling on the mittens (and watching with inward amusement as John chokes on his own breath trying not to laugh). “My suit of armor is complete. We can go now.”

“No, hold on, Jade’s getting Bec situated,” John wheezes. He gestures vaguely to where Jade is wrestling her devilbeast into some sort of doggy coat. You feel a faint stirring of sympathy, somewhere deep, deep in your heart. Deep. You mean like, _really deep_. It is on the goddamn ocean floor of the underwater kingdom that is your myogenic muscular organ. This stirring of sympathy will never see the light of day. It probably won’t even get discovered by some intrepid undersea explorer, because an angler fish will eat it first or something. Is that what those are called? Angler fish?

“Dave?”

John is waving a hand in front of your face and raising an eyebrow at you. He has probably been doing so for a while. You tend to space out when you’re rambling, even just in your head.

“Yeah, hey, I’m paying attention now, what’s up.”

“I declare it completely unfair of you to get lost in your thoughts when you have shades on, I can’t tell whether you’re actually spacing out or falling asleep standing up or just ignoring me,” he complains. “Anyway, the girls are already on their way out the door, it’s time to go!”

You look over to where the girls are indeed slipping out the front door, Jade half-dragging Bec behind her on his leash. Doesn’t look like he wants to go out in the snow much. Smart dog.

“You said you would,” John presses, apparently taking your silence as hesitance.

“Yeah, yeah. Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

(You definitely do not give the heat vent a longing look on your way out.)

 

“How are the mittens working out for you, Dave?” Jade calls.

“I can still feel my fingers. Is that supposed to happen?” you call back, jamming your mitten-clad hands into your pockets. Perched beside you on the bench, Rose scoffs.

“Nobody will think less of you if you give in, get up and enjoy yourself, Strider.”

“Wrong.”

“Wrong?”

“ _I_ will think less of myself.”

“So you admit you would be enjoying yourself?”

“I know you’re jealous that I have the basic natural instincts not to want to go out in unsuitable environmental conditions, but you have to understand, Lalonde, that if _everyone_ was this smart, natural selection wouldn’t work at _all_ ,” you say.

All Rose says is, “Go help John with his snowman, idiot.”

“Why aren’t _you_ helping with the snowmen?” you grumble.

“I’m not doing anything until you do. Because,” she says, patiently, like she’s trying to explain something to a very small child, “That way, the Egberts will get fed up and therefore force you to participate faster.”

“You have everything figured out, dontcha,” you drawl.

“Hey, Dave! Come help me push this!”

You glance back at John, who is standing next to a ball of compacted snow that’s almost as tall as the bench you’re sitting on.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Blasphemy from a Texan,” Rose observes. “Aren’t you supposed to be God-fearing?”

“I’m also supposed to be tan,” you point out.

“Fair enough,” she concedes.

“Quit arguing with your sister and help me already!” John complains.

“Why should I?” you retort, but it’s kind of a waste of breath, because by the time you’re finished saying it, you’re halfway to him. He beams at you and plants his hands against his monstrous creation.

“Ready?” he says eagerly. “On the count of three!”

“This is stupid,” you mumble.

 

Your snowman is lopsided and faceless and naked but you guess for a bunch of balls of snow with sticks stuck in them, it looks fine.

“It’s beautiful,” Rose offers, from the bench.

“I see _you’ve_ been active and appreciative of this breath of fresh air,” you sniff.

“It needs something,” John declares.

“Like a face,” Jade suggests.

“No, guys, he needs clothes. He’s gonna get fucking pneumonia or something if we leave him like this.”

“Of course,” John agrees, nodding sagely. “We can give him your ear muffs, Dave, and my scarf and Jade’s gloves.”

“You’re all going to catch colds and I’m not nursing you back to health,” Rose warns.

“Shut up, Lalonde,” you mutter, then focus on her more completely. “Sis, you haven’t moved from that spot. You’re just sitting in the bench with the fucking _dog in your lap, reading_.” (Here Bec eyes you contemplatively, having heard the word “dog”, then drops his head back between his paws.) “Why are you even _here?_ ”

“I’m making sure you don’t do anything stupid.”

“Me in particular or--”

“You in particular.”

“I’m touched,” you deadpan.

“Rose I am personally offended by the insinuation that I’m not perfectly capable of stopping Dave from doing stupid things by myself,” John calls. You glance back to see him winding his scarf around the snowman’s “neck”. You slide your earmuffs off and toss them to him, and he carefully puts them over the head. “Well, exactly as capable as _anyone_ is, anyway.”

“Watch what you’re implying, Egbert.”

He tosses a fistful of loose snow in your direction, which you neatly sidestep. Jade giggles at you as she tugs her gloves off and over the ends of the stick arms. You toss a handful back at him, then _ffffuck,_ “I’m being double-teamed this is unfair oh _god_ that’s cold,” and Jade darts away, leaving you to wipe the snow off your shades. And out of your hair. John walks towards you calmly, slowly, and though you watch him warily you do nothing to stop his advance. He stops next to you and slings an arm around your shoulders.

“Dave?”

“What.”

“Can I call you my sunshine?”

What?

_What?_

You’re not sure you can comprehend this. It just doesn’t make any sense. A more quick to function part of your brain notes that John’s got one of those shit-eating grins on his face, and after a moment you register a pressing chill on the back of your neck and the words, “Because it burns my eyes to look at you!”

You yelp and twist away, shaking out the back of your coat, as John skips away cackling. _Goddamn that is cold_. Who even puts snow down the back of someone’s shirt anymore. So rude on so many levels. Cold god _damn_ it’s cold.

Revenge is in order.

 

You run all the way home, because after an hour and a half of building a snowman, and another hour after that of wrestling in the snow, your clothes are soaked through and your ears are so cold they burn and Rose was right, you’re almost definitely going to catch a cold.

You and John automatically go straight for the English-Strider household; Jade less automatically follows you, but you don’t really care because hell, if you were as cold as she is (spoiler alert: _you are_ ) you wouldn’t really want Jane scolding you over it, either. You leave the front entryway a mess of boots and coats and winter gear and race to your room. You and John strip down to your boxers without really thinking much of it, remember Jade is there, glance back at her guiltily only to find _her_ stripping down to her underwear too, exchange a shrug and desperately dig through the closet and drawers for something warm and dry to change into. You throw on a loose shirt and sweatpants and a hoodie, and begin the search for a matching pair of socks as John tries to find clothes for Jade.

“My feet are coooold,” she whimpers.

“‘M _workin’_ on it,” you mutter. After another desperate moment you find a set of knitted woolen socks (probably a gift from Rose), and toss them to her. John comes over to help you and you find another two pairs more quickly.

“Dude,” he laughs, a little breathily, as you scramble to pull them on. “You could just have your socks pre-matched and rolled together and save yourself the trouble, did that ever occur to you?”

“Usually do, hadn’t gotten around to folding the clean laundry yet,” you grunt. A drop of melted snow streaks down your shades and you growl in frustration, tossing them aside. “Go get towels or something, I’ve got an idea.”

While John runs off to find towels or something, Jade helps you move the pile of soft, fluffy and most importantly _warm_ blankets from the pile in the corner to the bed. The new nest looks like some delicious den of pure warmth and soft and you have to grab Jade by the hood to stop her from crawling into it.

“Dry your hair off first,” you insist.

“But I’m freezing to death _now_ ,” she begs, making a halfhearted, clumsy attempt at prying your fingers out of her hood. You nearly let go out of sheer surprise when her finger brushes yours.

“Jesus fucking christ, your _hands_.”

She gives you a lopsided, chattering grin. “We gave my gloves to the snowman, remember?”

“Yeah, that was definitely occurring to me just now, thanks,” you mutter under your breath. You let go of her hood and grab her hands, trying to massage some warmth back into them. She cringes a little and you pause.

“Does it hurt?”

“Kind of _burns_ ,” she mumbles.

“Give here,” John demands, thrusting the towels towards you. You barely have a chance to grab them before he’s gently taking Jade’s hands, turning them over and over in his and frowning in consternation. “You don’t have frostbite, luckily enough. You should have said something!”

“Meh,” says Jade.

John rolls his eyes, takes a towel back from you and begins rubbing it viciously through her hair. You raise your eyebrows as he ignores her indignant cries.

“Jade is a big girl, Egbert, I think she can dry her own hai-- _fffffffeh_.”

The towel is old and rough and John really just isn’t making any attempt to be gentle with your unfortunate scalp. You stagger away glaring when he’s done. “Fuck you, too, man.”

He sticks his tongue out as he rubs the last towel briefly over his own hair. “Just get in the bed, Dave.”

You don’t have any real objections to the idea, and being difficult just for the sake of being difficult isn’t measuring up to getting a little warmth back in your limbs. You crawl into the nest, shortly followed by Jade, and after another minute, John.

“Kind of cramped,” Jade points out, voice muffled because her face is pressed into John’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry my one-person bed is having difficulties comfortably fitting three people,” you grumble.

“Two of which are teenage boys,” John adds. “It’s okay, we’ll warm up faster all squished together like this.”

“I feel like Rose is going to come in any minute now and take pictures to blackmail us with,” you admit, peering in the direction of your (shut, to your minor relief) door. When you glance back, Jade is staring at you with wide eyes.

“Your _eyes...!_ ”

You immediately clamp your eyelids shut and bury your face in the nearest pillow.

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean-- no, _Dave_ ,” she pleads. The bed shifts with her squirming, and then there’s a hand on your shoulder, shaking you. “I think they’re really cool and pretty and stuff!”

“And stuff?” John snorts. The mattress shifts again. The hand leaves your shoulder. “Leave ‘im alone, Jade, you shouldn’t have made it into such a big deal. They’re just eyes.”

“But they’re unusual, I couldn’t help--”

“Rose and Roxy have pink eyes,” John says. There’s a hint of warning in his voice that you appreciate, an underlying _drop the subject already, idiot_. “You know what, we can argue about this later, we’re going to sleep and get warm now. You alright with that plan, Dave?”

“Fuck yeah,” you mumble to the pillow. There’s a little more shifting, and you feel a body press against your side and an arm drape across your back. You tilt your head and crack open one eye; Jade’s cuddled against you and the arm across the both of you belongs to John. She’s got her eyes closed already, scowling and possibly sulking. He’s giving you an apologetic grin.

“Sorry about her,” he says.

“Naw,” you sigh, letting your eyelids fall closed again. “At least she didn’t start shrieking about how I was demon spawn.”

John laughs, a little hesitantly. When it trails off, there’s a beat of silence before he murmurs, tentatively, “I don’t know if-- I mean-- well, if this is uncomfortable for you, you can just get up, okay? You don’t have to stay crushed in here with us if you don’t...”

“I think I’ll be fine,” you manage after a moment of stunned silence. After another, you add, sincerely, “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” he chuckles.

 

You wake up later, still curled up with the Egberts, and have to climb over and around them to get out of the bed and the room and to the bathroom. You nearly crash into Rose when you step back out into the hallway. She gives your outfit a cursory glance and then proceeds to ignore it. This alarms you, and rightfully so, because her next words are,

“The funeral is on Friday. We’ll take you and John to be fitted for suits tomorrow.”

“Ffwhat,” you choke. Your head throbs painfully with reminders of why you will be attending a funeral. “I... we don’t... We can’t buy suits just for this.”

You can’t. You’d never be able to wear them for anything else without every crease in the fabric reminding you of the funeral. If nothing else it’d be a waste of money.

“I know,” Rose says, and there’s a dangerous sort of calmness to the words, like she’s one wrong word away from breaking down. It wouldn’t surprise you much at this point. “We’ll rent them. But we need to know what to rent first.”

“Oh.”

“Tell John.”

“... Oh.”

She whisks off in a swirl of purple fleece. You briefly wonder why she brought her bathrobe over to your house, then return to your room.

“Where’dja go?” John mumbles from the bed.

“Bathroom,” you croak. Your throat feels dry and scratchy. You wonder if it would actually help any to drink some water, or if it’s all in your head. “Hey, uh, Egbert?”

He sits up a little so he can blink at you properly. “Yeah?”

“I just talked to Rose and she said, uh.” You swallow. It hurts. “The... funeral. It’s on Friday.”

“I know,” he says. You stare, and he quietly continues, “It was my idea. I mentioned it to your Bro and Jake last night. I guess they talked to the girls about it while we were out earlier.”

“Okay,” you say, because honestly you’re not sure there’s a right way to respond to this. “We have to go get fitted for suits tomorrow.”

“Hm.”

You’re both silent for a minute. You stare at your usual corner from the doorway, and John flops onto his back on the bed before demanding, more firmly, “Come back to bed.”

“I’m not cold anymore. Or tired.”

“So?”

“I need to look into some things,” you insist, glancing to your laptop.

“You can look into some things in bed, laptops are wireless for a reason. Come keep us warm.”

“Only because your sister’s a goddamn living icicle,” you concede. You grab the laptop and climb back over both of them to settle beside Jade again. You and John watch as the applications load one by one. Pesterchum reminds you to carefully ask, “... Are you going to tell your friends yet?”

“... I don’t know,” John says.

“Alright,” you say. “Okay then.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People's lives, oddly enough, do not actually revolve solely around Dave Strider.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA 7/8/2015: trigger warning for discussion of death.

carcinoGeneticist [CG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB]

CG: JOHN, WHERE THE FUCK DID YOU GET OFF TO?

CG: I THOUGHT YOU WERE HANGING OUT AT MY PLACE TODAY.

CG: WAY TO JUST UP AND DITCH ME.

CG: I MEAN, SHIT, IF SOMETHING CAME UP YOU COULD’VE AT LEAST TOLD ME.

CG: JACKASS.

EB: hello asshole im not sure i know

EB: john is sleeping right now

EB: would you like me to take a message

CG: WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?

CG: WAIT, WHY IS JOHN SLEEPING?

CG: WHY DO YOU KNOW HE’S SLEEPING?

CG: THAT’S KIND OF REALLY CREEPY.

EB: johns sleeping because he pulled an all-nighter studying for shit last night

EB: speaking of which wow what kind of dipshit teachers do you guys have that they all gave you tests the second to last day before winter break

CG: HELL, I DON’T KNOW. I GUESS THEY LIKE TO KEEP US ON OUR TOES OR SOMETHING.

EB: do you at least get to chill out tomorrow

CG: YEAH.

CG: MOVIES IN PRETTY MUCH EVERY CLASS, REALLY. IT’S KIND OF FANTASTIC.

CG: SO I GUESS IN A WAY, THE TESTS ARE HOW WE EARN IT.

EB: probably the closest anyone will ever come to rationalizing such cruelty

CG: HEY I STILL DON’T KNOW WHO YOU ARE.

EB: thats okay

EB: i dont know who you are either

CG: WHO ARE YOU, WHY DO YOU HAVE JOHN’S PHONE, AND WHY DO YOU KNOW HE’S SLEEPING.

CG: BETTER YET WHY DO YOU KNOW WHY HE’S SLEEPING? HOW THE HELL DID YOU KNOW HE PULLED AN ALL-NIGHTER?

EB: im not sure youre ready to learn these things young grasshopper

EB: you still have much training to do

CG: FUCK YOU.

EB: well that’s not very;igyasghklj

EB: a;lsdgkhaldghl;ALKDSGHA;LSDGHAL;SDKHG;;lkh;

CG: WHAT THE FLYING FUCK?

EB: a;sldkghals;hg haha whoops sorry kar!!!

CG: JOHN?

EB: yep this is me.

EB: sorry about all that! and especially sorry about not coming over.

EB: like, so sorry, man. i was just super tired when school let out and i just wanted to get home and take a nap and it just slipped my mind entirely.

CG: UGH.

CG: WELL, WHATEVER. AS LONG AS IT’S NOT BECAUSE YOU GOT KIDNAPPED OR DECIDED TO BE AN ASSHOLE.

EB: a;slghaslghalgh

EB: asldgkhhe doesnt need to decide to do that hes an asshole by nature

CG: WHAT

EB: as;ldgkhas;lgh WHOOPS okay back to me again.

CG: JOHN WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS.

CG: WHO THE FUCK IS THAT.

EB: oh that?

EB: it’s just dave. don’t worry about it!

CG: WHY IS DAVE IN YOUR HOUSE?

CG: WITH YOUR PHONE AND THE KNOWLEDGE OF YOUR SLEEP SCHEDULE?

EB: because reasons okay.

EB: hey let’s just casually change the subject here. how are things going with sol?

CG: JOHN.

EB: what?

CG: YOU DO REALIZE THAT AVOIDING THE TOPIC IS ACTUALLY MAKING ME MORE FRUSTRATED AND CONCERNED, NOT LESS.

EB: yeah pretty much.

EB: but i don’t think you’d be very happy if i told you, either. so it’s kind of a stalemate.

CG: WHAT?

CG: WOULD I BE NOT VERY HAPPY WITH YOU OR JUST NOT VERY HAPPY IN GENERAL?

EB: uhhhhh mostly not very happy in general but maybe not very happy with me a little bit?

CG: OKAY.

CG: SO IT’S NOT BECAUSE YOU WENT OFF AND DID SOMETHING STUPID.

CG: THAT’S ALRIGHT THEN.

CG: WHAT DID YOU WANT TO TALK ABOUT AGAIN?

EB: how’re things going with sol? ;)

CG: JESUS CHRIST, NEVER MIND.

CG: DIFFERENT TOPIC.

CG: SHIT I CAN’T THINK OF ANYTHING.

EB: nope, i’ve filled your head too thoroughly with inappropriate thoughts.

EB: hehehehehe. :D

CG: SHUT UP I’M NOT THINKING ANYTHING INAPPROPRIATE.

CG: UUUUUUGH.

CG: I’M NOT HAVING THIS CONVERSATION WITH YOU.

EB: who will you have it with, if you can’t have it with your best bro? :(

CG: DON’T YOU MAKE FROWNY FACES AT ME THIS IS AN INVASION OF MY PRIVACY.

 

turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB]

TG: were out of cat food

TG: what do

EB: oh uh, hold on a sec, okay?

EB: i’ll say bye to kar and then we can walk to the pet store.

TG: so the abuser of capslock was vantas

EB: it’s just the way he types dave.

EB: by the way, lazy-ass, you’re a room over, what are you doing pestering me?

EB: face-to-face contact not good enough for you?

TG: you didnt seem to appreciate my presence earlier

EB: that’s because you kept stealing my phone and bothering kar!!!

TG: dude he texted first

TG: and i was a perfect gentleman

TG: also you were sleeping

EB: yes and i appreciate that you didn’t want to wake me up but kar is kind of lukewarm on you and provoking him probably won’t help that.

TG: i didnt provoke him

EB: you kind of were starting to.

TG: i was just withholding information i thought you wanted withheld

EB: well i GUESS...

TG: also i dont really give two shits if vantas doesnt like me

TG: its not like im desperate for friends

EB: no, it’s just everyone else who’s desperate for you to have friends.

 

CG: JOHN ARE YOU STILL THERE?

EB: oh.

EB: yeah sorry about that. but actually i have to go out and get something now, and i don’t want to text while walking so i’ll get back to you later, kar.

CG: WAIT.

CG: WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU HAVE TO GET AND WHY DO YOU HAVE TO WALK THERE? WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOUR CAR?

EB: uh

EB: things and

EB: reasons and

EB: things!

EB: those are the answers to your questions.

EB: okay bye kar.

CG: JOHN WHAT THE

ectoBiologist [EB] changed their mood to OFFLINE.

CG: FUCK?

CG: YOU KNOW WHAT, I’M GETTING BACKUP AND WE’RE GOING TO GET TO THE BOTTOM OF THIS.

CG: JUST YOU WAIT.

carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB]

 

You’re pulling a bag of kitty litter off the shelf when you suddenly hear your own voice saying, “You know, you’re going to have to tell them pretty soon.”

John freezes with his hands curled around a bag of Purina (“Kitten Chow”). “What?”

“I mean... Friday’s only a couple days away, now,” you say, for all the world making more eye contact with your shopping basket than John. “If you want them to be there they’ll probably appreciate a little head’s up.”

“I know,” he mumbles. He drops the cat food into the shopping basket. “Come on, let’s go get some crickets.”

“Why the hell do we need crickets?”

“For Casey.”

You don’t actually know anything about salamanders so you’re not even going to begin to try to argue. As you watch a store employee box up crickets for you, John sighs.

“I... I’ll tell them tomorrow, okay? I’ll invite them over after school and... Thanks,” he tells the employee, giving her a halfhearted smile. You start walking to the check-out.

“You want me to be there or should I just go over to the girls’ place for the afternoon?”

“I’d really, really rather you were there,” John admits. “If. You’re comfortable with that.”

“It’s fine,” you say, dismissively, and he shakes his head.

“No, really, Dave, I don’t want... You just seemed really shaken up after we went to Kar’s house, okay? So if that’s going to happen again then I’d rather you went to the girls’ than... yeah.”

If he wants you to give it your honest consideration first, you’ll need to know what you’re honestly considering. You snag a bag of dog treats from a sale bin and toss them onto the counter with your shopping basket. John carefully sets the box of crickets next to it. You’re silent all through the checking-out process, but as soon as your pet supplies are tucked into a bag and you’re on your way out, you ask, “How many people are we talking about here?”

John cringes. “Not counting us and the girls... Twelve, maybe?”

“ _Twelve?_ ”

“Well, Jade will want Fi and Naem to be there, if Naem is there Elias will come and if Fi’s there Eric will come... Rose will want Ari and Kanae to be there... I want Kar, Sol, Resa and Vera to be there, and if Kar’s gonna be there Gale will come and if Gale comes Tevin will probably show up too.”

“This is for the... for Friday, or just the discussion?” you demand.

“Just the discussion. Probably not more’n half at the... Friday,” John mumbles. The tension leaves his face for a split second as he glances at the bag and adds, “Did you grab the dog treats for Bec? That was actually really nice of you.”

“Way to make me sound like a dick,” you huff, and when John laughs you can’t help smiling a little.

“You kind of are, man.”

“You really know how to win a guy over, Egbert. I am just so incredibly, unbelievably flattered right now.”

“Don’t worry, I’m right here to catch you when you swoon,” he says, and then he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and you choke a little trying not to laugh.Then his face sombers again, and he asks, slowly, “You’re... you’ll be there on Friday, right?”

“What?-- of fucking _course_ ,” you say, exasperation leaking into your tone. “You really do think I’m a dick, don’t you? Of course I’ll come on Friday. Why did you think I got fitted for a suit? So I could get a job as a butler?”

He breaks out in a grin again. “Dave, you would be an _awful_ butler.”

“No way, man.”

“Way. You would never do what you were told. You’re difficult for difficulty’s sake.”

“Baby, I can change.”

The smack to your arm is mostly ineffective, because your winter coat is providing like two inches of padding.

“So... discussion, yes or no?”

You grimace. “Sorry, man, but, I... Twelve sounds like kind of too much, probably.”

“Ha. Yeah, if just what happened at Kar’s house was enough... Jesus, wow, that was a bad idea,” he laughs, awkwardly, and nudges your shoulder with his. “Just stay at the girls’ house with Jade, then, I guess. I’ll. I’ll manage, I think.”

“I’m sure Lalonde will help,” you assure him.

“Yeah,” he sighs, then makes a face. “Goddammit she’d _better_.”

 

"So essentially, Egbert wants you to stay here with me because he thinks you'll be a water hazard from the sheer amount of tears you would shed?"

Jade huffs indignantly, but says nothing to deny it. Instead, she says, "I don't see _you_ over there."

You wave a hand in her direction dismissively. "Too many people. Don't really know any of them anyway, it's not like they need me there."

"It's _your house_ , Dave."

"Are you hinting that you don't want me here, is that what I should be taking away from this?"

"What, no! Gosh, way to assume the worst."

You snort, absentmindedly entering another term into the search engine on your laptop. At present, you're sprawled out on Jane's couch, trying and failing to concentrate on schoolwork. Jade is perched on what little space you haven't occupied. She's watching some sort of home improvement show on the TV. Well, technically it's a garden improvement show, but still.

“Anyway, aside from your attempts to make me feel like a bad person, how has your day been?”

“Boring as all hell,” you mutter. Your fingers fly over the keyboard. “Hope Bro takes some time off for the holidays, wouldn’t mind a strife even if it’s gotta be out in the goddamn snow...”

“You’d catch a cold,” Jade laughs. “Do you even get a winter break? I mean, since the program is online and all..."

"Yeah, no, they still have to give the teachers a break from preparing shit for us," you roll your eyes. "Ours doesn't start until the weekend, though."

"So on Friday--"

"I'll skip, don't you worry your pretty little head over it."

"But that's bad!"

"It's the day before winter break, jesus, there'll hardly be anything to catch up on. Plenty of people will already be on vacation anyway, what difference does it make?"

Jade frowns at you. You roll your eyes at her again before remembering that you are wearing shades and she doesn't know you well enough to assume things about your habits yet.

"Anyway, what were we doing before? Pleasantries? How was _your_ day?”

She scrunches up her nose and snuggles down under her blanket. “Fine. Boring. They didn’t show any good films and I got hit in the face with a dodgeball in gym.”

“Poor baby,” you deadpan. Then you dodge the pillow that’s suddenly flying at your face.

“Shut up, asshole.”

You’re both quiet for a moment, and the house hums with comfortable, familiar noises all around you. The landscaper on screen drones on with false enthusiasm, occasionally quieting for thirty seconds of catchy ( _ear-bleedingly awful_ ) jingles and overhyped salespeople. The steady, quiet click of the second hand from the grandfather clock is barely audible with this, the constant tapping of the keys on your laptop and the occasional rumble of a car passing outside all present, competing with one another to drown it out. But it’s there. It’s a comforting noise, one present in some of your better childhood memories. You have fuzzy recollections of cuddling into your Bro’s side on Jane’s dad’s couch as you all watched the Granada Sherlock Holmes on the VCR.

God you feel old.

“So I guess you finally get to meet Kanae on Friday,” Jade says, suddenly, out of the blue.

You shrug. “I guess I do.”

“...Well? Anything to say about that?”

“ _Should_ I have anything to say about it?” you ask, honestly confused.

“It’s your sister’s potential girlfriend! Are you just... _okay_ with your sister going out with someone you don’t even know?”

“Pretty much,” you admit freely.

“And you’re just fine with that? Not even knowing her girlfriend?”

“Rose is old enough to make decisions for herself,” you declare. Jade scowls at the television. “Look, until about a year ago I didn’t have a damn clue I was going to be in Washington for any period of time. My meeting Kanae wasn’t even a factor. I was okay with it then so I don’t see why I shouldn’t be okay with it now.”

Jade is silent. You can’t help frowning at her. “ _Should_ I be worried?”

“What? No! No, Kanae is very nice and smart and stuff,” she says hurriedly.

“And stuff,” you repeat.

Jade flushes. “ _Well_ , I’ve never known her nearly as well as Rose so whatever.”

You both sit in contemplative silence for a while; you’re trying to figure out how to phrase this and you don’t know what the hell Jade’s thinking, but eventually you say, slowly, “It’s not... about Kanae, specifically. I’m not going to give everyone who so much as glances her way the third degree. If she’s happy and she’s not doing anything stupid, then I’m okay with whatever she decides to do. I’m not going to be the big brother who chases off all her friends.”

“You don’t have very high expectations,” Jade observes. You scoff.

“Yes, well, I’ve had to settle for ‘happy’ with Roxy and Bro-- not really Crocker or English’s fault but still, if Rose manages ‘not doing anything stupid’, it’s a victory against her heritage.”

Jade giggles a little, turning to face you again. And by “turning to face you” you mean she just kind of lets herself topple over sideways, so her upper body is strewn over your shins.

“You’re kind of weird and funny, Dave.”

“Where the hell did this even come from, anyway?” You open your laptop again. “Did they finally get their shit together or something?”

“Nooo,” Jade laughs, looking a little nervous. You can’t help narrowing your eyes and assuming the worst.

“Is _John_ the big brother that chases off all your friends?”

“What! No, Dave, oh my GOD. You _live_ with him, you should _know_ he’s not like that at _all_.”

“You’re acting like I’m about to find out some terrible secret, it’s hardly my fault if I start coming up with stuff like this.”

“John is the _best_ brother,” she informs you, with a finality that reassures you that she does, in fact, think John is the best brother and he is probably not being more of a brotherly dick than he needs to be. Probably. “Although I guess you and your bro seem like pretty good brothers in your own way, for Rose at least.”

“Thank you, I think,” you grumble, more to your keyboard than Jade. “Now shut up and pay attention to your flowers, I’m trying to get shit done over here.”

 

ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

EB: dave you need to come home right now.

TG: dude wheres the fire

TG: totally looking out the window to check for smoke now btw

EB: okay good you see that person in the window?

TG: you mean

TG: you

TG: desperately flailing

TG: man if the house is actually on fire you know you can just

TG: leave

TG: did you manage to lock yourself in somehow

EB: ugh no shut up the house is not on fire.

EB: but everyone is freaking out and fussing over us and they won’t listen to anything we say anymore so please come home and stand around looking intimidating for me.

TG: i dunno egbert

TG: twelve is kind of

TG: a lot

TG: and if theyre irritating you then

EB: please, dave.

EB: please.

EB: this is me begging you.

EB: in case you couldn’t tell.

TG: is it safe to leave missy egbert on her own

EB: who cares, just bring her along!!!

EB: dave please, i told them i was going to the bathroom, i can’t hide in our room much longer or they’ll get suspicious.

TG: welp

TG: fine i guess

TG: gimme a minute

EB: THANK YOU.

ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

 

The first thing you hear when you open the door is Rose’s voice. You aren’t sure what she’s saying because she’s going on in that monotone, brain-numbing drone that she uses to explain really boring shit, which you have, over the years, taught yourself to tune out automatically. Fortunately, you don’t really miss anything, because as soon as she notices you, she stops, smiles and says, in a more normal voice, “The reinforcements have arrived.”

Everyone immediately turns to stare at you. You do a quick once-over and nearly screech in horror when your initial total is fourteen, _Egbert you lying bastard_ , but then you remember not to count John and Rose. Alright. So twelve was right.

Twelve.

Hm.

Well at least they’re all quiet right now.

“Oh, God, it’s you,” Kar says.

Never mind, then.

“Be nice,” John tells him, through gritted teeth. You wonder just what has been said up to this point to wear down his patience so much, then decide you really don’t want to know and would be perfectly fine with it if you were never told ever.

“Hello to you too, Vantas,” you finally say, stepping inside and out of the way so Jade can come in and you can shut the goddamn door, because really, if there is one thing your sisters have done to earn your disdain it is their choice of climates. _Washington_. _New York_. _Ladies why_.

“You do realize,” Resa drawls, voice thick with the mockery of patience and reason, “That really this only supports our theory?”

“Do I want to know?” slips out, and you quickly fix that with, “Shit, no, I don’t, don’t tell me.”

Rose rolls her eyes and motions vaguely to your person. “Please, just take off your coat and boots and _sit down_.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” you mutter, although you _do_ crouch to remove your boots.

“ _You’re_ not the boss of _me_.”

“Could be. I’m older.”

“Oh, that’s alright, then. I bow to your _less than twenty-four hours worth_ of superiority.”

You throw one of your mittens at her. She sighs delicately, exasperatedly really, picks it up, walks over, and bops you over the head with it. You swat it away, but then when you’re trying to stand and abscond, she grabs your shirt and gives you a _sisterly kiss on the cheek_.

Oh God.

Oh _God_.

She is pulling out all the stops _why is she doing that is there even a worse way to be introduced to your roommate’s friends jesus christ Rose NO_

“Rose, no,” you complain, trying to pull away, but it’s too late; everyone but John, Jade, Resa and an elegant girl perched in your armchair is gaping at you in shock. Rose plants a kiss on your other cheek while you’re distracted, and you make a show of wiping it off. “You suck.”

“No you,” she coos, reaching up to ruffle your hair before forcing you to turn and face the room. “Well, then, go on.”

You grumble and shuffle your feet awkwardly-- you can’t socialize on command, you can barely socialize at your _own_ pace for God’s sake-- until John takes pity on you.

“Guys, this is Dave. Be nice to him because it’s his house and God knows if you provoke him _I_ won’t stop him from kicking you out.”

A taller girl towards the back says, sharply, “I thought you said you had a _roommate_.”

“He does,” you say. “We are. Roommates. Still my house.”

“And how the fuck is _he_ involved in all this?” Kar growls.

“My mother’s been _murdered_ ,” Rose says, calmly, and you can’t help it if you both watch in interest as everyone else in the room flinches. “Why _wouldn’t_ my brother be involved?”

Silence. Then

It’s like you just set off a firecracker-- suddenly, everyone is talking at once, each getting progressively louder in an attempt to be heard over each other and your head immediately begins to pound, your hands twitch upwards before you realize that covering your ears will either make you seem like a pussy or a douchebag but you _can’t take this_ there’s too much noise, too much motion and _far_ too many people and

“Everybody _SHUT THE FUCK UP!_ ” Kar shouts.

The room falls silent.

“ _Thank_ you,” he growls, dropping back against your sofa. Your entire body slowly relaxes. “Why don’t we try to do this in a semi-fucking organized manner, raise your goddamn hands or something. Yes. Kanae.”

The elegant girl in your armchair turns and smiles politely at you, holding out her hand. “It’s very nice to finally meet you, Mr.Strider.”

“Miss Maryam, I presume,” you drawl, taking a few long strides towards her so you can shake the proffered hand. “The pleasure’s all mine.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” she adds, innocently. You drop her hand to give Rose a dirty look over your shoulder.

“All terrible lies, I’m sure.”

“We shall see,” Kanae laughs.

“You _knew_ Rose had a brother?” a boy standing across the room explodes.

“Eric, shut the fuck up, sit down and _raise your goddamn hand_ if you’d like to talk!”

“Fuck you, Kar, we’re not ten and we’re not in school so you can take your _hand-raising_ and shove it up your--”

This is going to be a very long afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent a good forever trying to write more of Dave getting to know people and then I just found a good stopping point and gave up because I'm kind of awful at writing the trolls.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty much a filler chapter and I'm sorry.

“Egbert?”

“Hm?”

What you want to say-- what you _meant_ to say-- is, “Are you sure you don’t want me to come along?” but it gets stuck somewhere on the way out of your throat, so instead you say, “What the fuck is this?”

John turns away from the bathroom mirror to give you a confused glance, sees the sheet of paper in your hands, and turns back with an amused snort. “I thought you wouldn’t find that until after I left.”

“Thought or hoped?”

“Hoped, because now you’re going to try to argue with me about it. It’s a honey-do list.”

“A honey-do list,” you repeat.

“Yeah,” he says, fixing his tie. “You know, chores and stuff?”

“I’m not your wife.”

He gives a startled, full-out laugh at that, and cheerfully agrees, “No, you’re not. Why? Would you like to be?”

You flashstep to him for the sole purpose of whacking him upside the head ( _he yelps, but doesn’t stop laughing, the bastard_ ), then flashstep back out to the living room, where you flop on the sofa and definitely do not sulk. You hear him trail in a moment later, dress shoes clicking sharply on the wooden floors.

“How do I look?”

“Like John Egbert,” you grumble, without looking. He lets out an exasperated huff, and you respond in kind before rolling over and eyeing him cursorily. “You look fine, man. _I_ wouldn’t have even thought to dress up that much for the reading of the wills in the first place.”

He nods, looking satisfied. “Are you going to be alright alone all afternoon?”

You scowl and turn away, rescuing your laptop from the coffee table. “I’m a fucking legal adult, you know. I don’t need to be babysat.”

“I didn’t mean it like... Okay, fine, you know what, whatever,” he huffs. “Why isn’t Jake going to be home?”

“Job interview,” you say dismissively. You glare at the screen until it’s done loading. “Get a move on, they’re not goin’ anywhere until you’re with them and you might as well get it over with.”

“Okay,” John sighs. You hear his footsteps as he crosses the room, and then the creak of the door. “I’ll see you later, I guess. Try to eat something before then?”

“No promises.”

The door shuts quietly and you realize there’s not actually anything important to be done on your laptop. There’s nothing important to be done on your laptop, you’ve taken care of all your schoolwork for the day, there’s nothing you want to watch on TV and the XBox is broken and nobody’s home.

You grimace at the honey-do list.

 

ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

EB: hey, dave!!!

EB: dave are you there?

EB: daaaaave.

EB: dude, what could you possibly be doing that is more interesting than talking to me. you are home alone.

EB: wait.

EB: don’t answer that.

TG: calm down egbert im here

TG: im just trying to figure out whether this pizza is still any good

EB: oh gross no, that stuff went bad like... last week.

TG: what

TG: whyd you leave it in the fridge if you knew it was bad?

EB: to see if you would notice!!

TG: you asshole

EB: i’m very proud of you dave.

EB: you’re finally learning normal people skills like feeding yourself.

TG: ive been living alone with bro for years you know

TG: i know how to do this shit

EB: do you really?

EB: because it didn’t seem like it when i first moved in.

TG: well excuse me if i was a little unsettled

EB: your bro and the girls will be home soon btw.

TG: what about you

EB: i have to take care of something, so i’ll be a little longer.

TG: what something

TG: you better not be doing anything stupid

EB: define “stupid”....

TG: egbert no

EB: jk dave don’t worry. :P

TG: you suck

EB: it’s a surprise though so...

EB: you’ll just have to wait and find out!!!

TG: you

TG: suck

EB: i love you too, bro.

ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

 

The house feels oddly quiet that night, which is even more disconcerting given that, though Jake and John are still off doing... whatever, all four girls are over. All the Striders and Lalondes under one roof and the house is quiet. You feel like there’s bomb stashed somewhere and it’s just a matter of time.

You end up curled up in the corner pile in your room while Rose stares around in abject horror.

“Dave,” she finally says, slowly and quietly, like you’re a wild animal she might frighten off. “Did... did you... _clean_ the _house?_ ”

You scowl. “Maybe.”

“But _why?_ ” Rose says. She sounds like someone has picked up her world, shaken it, and then let it re-settle upside down.

You feel like maybe you have a right to be offended here. You’re pretty sure she’s implying something offensive. In fact, if you were a little more awake, you might even know what it was.

“I’m too tired from being a good housewife to fight with you right now,” you say instead, burying your head in a conveniently located pillow. “And hungry. What happened to dinner.”

“Did you even eat lunch? Because if you didn’t eat lunch you can’t complain that we’re not starting dinner soon enough,” she scolds, mildly, padding over to you to crouch beside your prone form. You wave a hand dismissively.

“I had a cup of instant noodles.”

“ _Dave_.”

“Don’t you _Dave_ me, there weren’t any leftovers that weren’t growing mold.”

“You know how to scramble eggs.”

“Too much work to clean up after.”

“You cleaned the whole _house_. The _windows_ are clean on the inside.”

“Maybe I just couldn’t stand the thought of any more cleaning by the time I was through with all of that.”

Rose rolls her eyes. “We’re holding dinner for Jake and John, in case that was actually a question and not just you complaining to pass the time.”

“Oh, right,” you muse. The way your voice is muffled into the pillow is oddly fascinating to you. You’re starting to wonder if a lot of the things you’ve done or observed today were done or observed through a veil of sleep deprivation. You can’t remember whether or not you slept last night and that’s usually a bad sign. “I knew about that.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah, English mentioned it this morning while they were leaving, said ‘e might be home late and if Bro could please hold dinner until he got back.”

“He just _asked?_ ”

“What was he supposed to do, use blackmail, it’s just dinner and the list of things Bro would not do for English is really goddamn short.”

“Yes,” Rose says, and then she looks annoyed. “How long have they been dating?”

“Uhh,” you roll over onto your back and glare at the ceiling like it might give you the answer. “I don’t know, a year? More than a year? Ish?”

“They’re pretty serious,” she hints, and you groan, throwing an arm across your eyes dramatically (and then spending a second marvelling over the fact that you found the energy to do it, because the longer you think about it the less certain you are that you got any sleep last night and you feel like your joints are melting).

“Oh my _god_ , are you still butthurt that they didn’t tell you sooner? Really, Lalonde?”

“My own brother,” she complains. “My own brother, in a serious relationship with someone he really loves and has really loved for years, his _high-school sweetheart--_ ”

“I’m pretty sure you only get to call it that if they were dating _in high school_ \--”

“--For a _year_ and nobody thought to tell me? Nobody thought I might like a chance to congratulate them? Or be happy for them? Or make Bro’s life hell by sharing embarrassing stories?”

“Okay, see, you were doing fine up until then,” you declare. Your arm falls to the side, and you use the convenient positioning to point at Rose accusingly. “That thing you just said, just now-- that’s _my_ job.”

“I think you could stand to share,” she sniffs.

“I’ll fight you over this,” you warn her. She raises an eyebrow, raking her eyes up and down your prone form meaningfully, and you amend, “Tomorrow.”

“You wouldn’t really.”

“No, because I’d win and then I’d feel bad about it because that’s just really unfair.”

“It’d be pretty even if you didn’t flashstep,” she insists. “Hand-to-hand-- I think I could take you, probably.”

“That has ‘bad idea’ written aaaaall over it,” you say. “In sharpie.”

“I could get John to take you for me?”

You make a face at that. “No flashstepping, hand-to-hand?”

“Ha,” she says, righteously, and kicks off her shoes to settle down next to you in the pile. “If you have to think about it, he’s got a chance, right?”

“I’d probably end up flashstepping out of habit, anyway,” you grumble. “And I wouldn’t be sorry, either, because hey, instincts that mean I don’t get hit, why would you _not_ give that positive reinforcement?”

“Because it makes it that much harder to hit you myself.”

“Boo hiss. That’s a fucking awful reason.”

She sniffs delicately and nudges your arm until you move it and she can curl into your side. “Whatever, Dave.”

You lie there in companionable silence for quite a while; you can hear the footsteps and lowered voices of Bro and the girls, in the living room, the comforting hum of the heater and the even more comforting warm air it sends to curl around you (pile of warm fuzzy things next to a heater: quite possibly your best idea ever?), heat spreading itself through your body until you’re so fucking relaxed you’re half-asleep, dazed, and you really aren’t sure you could move more than a foot if you wanted to. You certainly can hear Rose’s breathing beside you, too, occasionally mixed with a quiet hum as she processes some complicated thought or another, constantly mixed with your own breathing in a soft lull of exchanged air.

You stay like that for maybe fifteen minutes before something with claws scrambles its way up your body and settles heavily on your chest.

“I think I made your cat fat,” you murmur to Rose. She snorts, lazily reaching over to scritch at Mutie’s ears.

“No, Dave, she just grew a little. She was a kitten. This is completely normal and healthy,” she informs you as Mutie begins to rumble like an engine. “I’m glad you’re taking good care of her, though, I suppose.”

You make a noise of consideration, or maybe it’s agreement, you have no idea _wow_ you are tired. Rose eyes you thoughtfully.

“I can’t decide whether I want you to stay awake long enough to have dinner or whether it’s better to let you crash here and force the leftovers on you later.”

“ _Laissez-faire,_ ” you suggest. The French is clumsy on your tongue and you’re not sure why you even _tried_ when you’re barely speaking _English_ coherently right now. Rose makes a face. Ah, yes, that’s right, the Lalondes and their French. Whatever. She’ll just have to deal. “But before you find something blunt to knock me out with, this is probably the best time to have a messy emotional conversation if you want me to willingly participate, just so you know.”

Rose laughs, doubtfully. “I suppose you really _are_ about to crash and burn, if you’re suggesting that all on your own.”

“I’m warm and comfortable and tired and you haven’t done anything in the last twenty minutes that makes me reconsider what a fantastic sister you are,” you reason, and Rose laughs again, a little more genuinely. Her head drops to rest against your shoulder as the both of you fuss at her cat.

“We worry about you, you know.”

You blink. Oh. You guess you _are_ going to have a messy emotional conversation.

“We being the girls, you being you boys,” she clarifies. “Including Bro and Jake.”

“Okay,” you manage. “Okay... _why?_ ”

She stops petting the cat for a moment to reach up (at a very awkward angle, you’re sure) and bop you on the forehead. You and Mutie simultaneously grumble in displeasure. “Because we _care_ and you’re all _morons?_ ”

Cue scowl. “Rude.”

“No, you said I got to have a messy emotional conversation with you, you have to hear me out now,” Rose growls. She props herself up on an elbow so she looms over you. “You-- that’s not a hard one, you don’t eat or sleep properly at the best of times and now you’ve gone and gotten traumatized and it’s even worse, and you’ve developed some kind of social anxiety on top of all that. Bro is trying to run a house, work, and be a brother _and_ a boyfriend _and_ some kind of temporary guardian and _he’s_ traumatized too, maybe more so, I’m not sure how close he and my mother were.” She stops for breath. “I don’t really know about why anyone worries about Jake, I don’t know nearly enough about him to worry about him, ask Jane and Roxy I suppose. John’s _father_ has just been _brutally murdered_ and he’s trying to deal with it in a mature way for Jade, he’s being very _big-brother-ly_ about the whole ordeal and I’m not sure he’s coping at _all_ but for some reason he likes you, so. Maybe you’re helping. I don’t know. But he misses his house and his father and his dog, I think.”

Silence.

It _drags_ on and on and on, until you voice, very, very quietly, “We worry about you too?”

Rose laughs, tired and stressed but mostly content for now, you think. “I know you do. Good lord, you need sleep.” She tugs the blankets higher up on your body, plucks your shades off your face, smooths your hair to the side and kisses your forehead. You feel like the little boy Roxy used to tuck into bed, years and years ago, who didn’t have a dad and didn’t care and thought his older brother was invincible. “Are you going to go willingly or do I have to force-feed you sleeping medication?”

“Your plan is flawed,” you slur. “We don’t have any sleeping medication.”

“Don’t you,” Rose says, clearly amused. Although you’re not sure if that’s because you’re barely coherent or because you were curling into her side even as she spoke. “Go to sleep. I’ll wake you when dinner is ready.”

“Okay,” you breathe.

And then you’re out.

 

“So,” John says.

“Th’ _fuck_ ,” you say. Then you yank the blankets over your head, bury your face in the nearest pillow, and grope around until your fingers wrap around your shades. You proceed to drag them into the nest with you so you’ll be prepared for any more surprise attacks by the overhead light. Retinas are such delicate things. “Why would you _do_ that even.”

Your pillow barks out a laugh, and you realize belatedly that no, this is your sister’s middle, not a pillow. Which would explain why it smells a little more like rice and lavender than your (badass, manly) strawberry shampoo. You would say it’s not an unwelcome change except that you’re quickly gaining coherency and you’ve reached the point where some part of your brain recognizes that that’s a _little_ bit creepy.

“You smell nice,” you say anyway, and oh, hey, you still can’t get the filter between your brain and your mouth to work, nice to know some things remain constant.

“Thank you,” Rose tells you, grinning in a way that leaves some back corner of your mind wondering if maybe you should be concerned about finding blackmail of this later.

“I think he still needs sleep,” John observes. _No shit, Sherlock_.

“He needs food more,” Rose insists. She pries you from her bosom and begins dragging you out of the pile. You growl and wrest your hands free so you can burrow back into the blankets and (real) pillows. “If John has to carry you out to the living room it will be a lose-lose situation, Dave.”

“No it won’t,” you and John say at exactly the same time. You peek out from the blankets enough to meet his mischievous grin with a glower, and continue, “Because Egbert is an asshole and would do something stupid like that just to irritate me even though he should be fucking grateful that I cleaned the goddamn _house_ at his insistence.”

John’s delighted “that _was_ you, you really _did_ do the list,” clashes with Rose’s disbelieving “ _John_ convinced you to clean the house? John convinced _you_ to clean the house? John convinced you to _clean_ the _house?_ ”

There is a beat of silence in which you give them both dirty looks and turn to face the wall, trying to go back to sleep. Rose sighs. “There’s chinese take-outs and BBC Sherlock, if that affects your decision at all.”

“That’s low,” you say, absentmindedly, even as you begin semi-automatically disentangling yourself from the blankets. “Nostalgia should be off-limits, it’s just unfair to target a guy’s childhood like that.”

“Your fond childhood memories involve take-outs and murder mysteries?” John laughs. You throw a pillow at his face and wobble to your feet, still ensconced in one of the blankets.

“You want stories, ask Crocker for stories. Or Lalonde the senior. Or Bro. Actually, no, don’t ask Roxy or Bro for stories.”

“Why not?”

“Because they’ll embarrass him,” Rose says, easily, then raises an eyebrow. “And Jane won’t?”

“Not _intentionally_.”

You collapse sideways onto the sofa when you reach the living room, feet in Bro’s lap, head in Jane’s.

“Sherlock and fried rice?” you ask, hopefully. Jane beams down at you.

“Sherlock and fried rice,” she agrees.

“Is this some sort of special Crocker-Strider thing nobody else knows anything about?” Jake muses, reaching over to jostle your knee. You kick at him half-heartedly. “Chinese take-outs and detective movies?”

Bro snorts, shifting to make room for Rose. She curls between you and the back of the sofa. On the floor, you can see John and Jade settling down under one of the good quilts. “When we were still in high school, in New York-- you remember, Jake, there was that little chinese place on the way back to our foster home, from school. Jane and I used to go there every once in a while, and after she decided she was going to spoil Dave rotten we started just getting our food to go and heading over to her place so we could all eat cheap, delicious fried things and watch old movies like the broke high schoolers we were.”

“It was a really good way to spend a Friday night,” Jane insists.

“Roxy never got jealous?” Jake teases, and the blonde in question sniffs.

“I got plenty jealous, _b’lieve_ me. But Jane decided that that was stupid and she said that’f I thought she would stop hanging out with ‘er other friends just ‘cause I was feelin’ possessive then we needed to have a nice, _long_ talk.”

“It really was a very long talk,” Jane says.

“I think I might’ve been there for that,” you muse. “Somebody got hit with a physics textbook?”

“That doesn’t narrow down the list of possible events you could have been present for,” Bro points out, fiddling with the remote. “Now shut up. Everyone comfy? Got your food? Yeah? Alright, I’m starting the show now.”

This is so blatantly a comfort night so nobody panics and you don’t even care. Chinese take-outs and Sherlock, man. Chinese take-outs and Sherlock.

“Fantastic!”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA 7/8/2015: trigger warning for discussion of death. As in this entire chapter is about death. This is the funeral chapter.

You stagger into the kitchen around six the next morning, which is just _far, far_ too early, but hey, the things you do for the people you love.

Bro raises his eyebrows at you, then pours three-quarters of a cup of coffee, fills it the rest of the way with milk and dumps maybe half the sugar pot in with it before he hands it to you.

“You,” you croak, jab your finger at him and then pause to take a long pull, swallow, continue, “Are a god.”

“You’re welcome,” he says. You collapse into a nearby chair while you drink the rest. It’s lukewarm and too-sugary with bitter under and aftertastes and it’s just really so _gross_ , you don’t _like_ coffee and you never have but mmmmm. Caffeine. Sweet, sweet caffeine.

“You know,” you start, gesturing at Bro with the mug. “They make caffeinated ice cream, we could--”

“No,” he interrupts. “We can talk about getting things to abet your sleeping habits, or lack thereof, _after_ the caffeine is finished working its way into your system.”

You give him an agreeable “hmmm” as you down the rest of the cup.

“Egbert and English picked up the suits last night,” he informs you. “They’re hanging up in the closet in our room. Be dressed by eight, shower before then. Drink more coffee if you have to.”

“Caffeinated tea,” you suggest. He makes a face.

“We’ll see.”

“Food?”

“I can do... eggs.” He frowns at the refrigerator. “Probably.”

“Toast?”

“We’ll see,” he repeats, waving a hand at you dismissively. “Go shower. Wake up Egbert when you’re done.”

You slink off to the bathroom. You shower with cold water-- partially out of deference for the fact that everybody else will have to shower after you, and partially because you’re still half asleep and hey, cold shower in winter. If this won’t wake you up, _nothing_ will. Unfortunately, it ends with you shivering in front of the bathroom mirror because you forgot to take a change of clothes in with you. Turns out it’s kind of difficult to brush your teeth when they’re chattering.

The door swings open, clipping your shoulder. You try to swear around a mouthful of toothpaste. Doesn’t work. Surprise, surprise.

“Wh-- dude, lock the door!”

“Dude, _knock,_ ” you spit out with the toothpaste. You give John a shivery glare, then raise an eyebrow at his red face and eyes stubbornly fixed on your face. “I can’t decide whether this is funny or sad, do you not use the locker rooms at school?”

“It’s _different_ at school, they have more than a _towel_ around their waists and they’re not _wet_ and--” you think he just derailed his own train of thought? “You’re wet and wearing only a towel around your waist in winter.”

“Yes?”

“It’s like you _want_ to catch pneumonia,” he grumbles. “Look, hurry up and finish up, I need to pee.”

You roll your eyes and stick a cup under the tap, swishing the water around in your mouth as slowly as you can just to be aggravating. John leans against the door frame looking embarrassed and impatient and sleep-rumpled. By the time you spit the water out, he’s apparently waited long enough that he grabs you by the arm, shoves you out into the hallway and slams the door in your face.

“Rude,” you tell the wood.

It still feels too early to put the suit on, so you settle for drying off, putting on some clean boxers and wrapping yourself in blankets to sit in the corner, fussing with your laptop. It’s about seven by the time John wanders back in to throw a towel at your head.

“If you get sick today I’m going through everything you own until I find something embarrassing to give to Rose,” he threatens.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever done anything really embarrassing that Rose doesn’t already know about,” you admit, idly entering another term into the search engine before half-heartedly rubbing the towel over your hair. “Speaking of things people don’t know about, how was the. Reading?”

“Long,” he sighs. His footsteps cross the room until he’s right in front of you, and then you catch yourself yelping when his fingers _dig_ into your scalp and the towel finds itself being used much more efficiently. When he finishes, you blink up at him through ruffled blond hair, and he snorts and continues, “Or did you actually want details?”

“Something like that,” you agree.

“Distribution of finances and stuff, normal, y’know,” he shrugs, gives you a tight smile. “I got the car and the house.”

“Oh,” you mumble. You stare down at the folds of the blanket. “Are you gonna... I mean...”

“Sell them and put the money towards college, I guess,” he says. There’s something of an air of defeat to his tone. You look up frantically; the smile is even more strained. “I mean, I can’t pay for the house on my own and still finish school, and everything is within walking distance and it’d suck paying for gas and stuff anyway so...”

You don’t know what to say. You can only stare up at him, feeling lost and helpless and _how do you comfort people who aren’t your sister?_ He sighs and continues, “Rose mentioned something about doing the same thing for her house.”

“Of course she did,” you mumble, but you feel a little sick thinking about it. Your sister has lived in the same house for her whole life and all of her memories and wordly possessions are there and her _mother_ jesus _christ_. John’s not any better off, presumably, and he has a little sister to look after to boot. And this wasn’t even his problem, he shouldn’t have had to be involved in this, he didn’t know _anything_ about this and now his father’s dead and he has to sell his childhood home and attend the funeral.

For a second, you wonder, a little desperately, if you could have prevented this. If you and Bro had called the Lalondes of Washington and said “hey, he’s on the move, be prepared,” could things have turned out differently? Would Ms.Lalonde have been more careful about inviting a friend into her house? Maybe _she_ still would have died, but maybe-- maybe James Egbert wouldn’t have been killed, and John and Jade would only know about all this as the sad, sad story of their friend, of Rose.

“Dave?”

You blink. John is waving a hand in front of your face. “What? Sorry. Spaced out. Happens sometimes.”

“You look kind of upset,” he hints. You grimace.

“Whatever. Hey, do you know what I did with my shades?”

He rolls his eyes, wanders over to the bedside table, picks them up and basically chucks them at you. You catch them (because you’re awesome) and slide them onto your face. “So. Suits?”

“Suits,” John agrees.

 

The girls look nice.

The flowers are okay.

They should have done something with Jade’s hair, it’s a tangled mess.

It’s kind of cold, but not _too_ cold outside. It’s just the right cold that if the sky opened up, it would be that god-awful slushy rain that can’t just go all the way to snow because that’d be too simple. There are storm clouds overhead. You are wearing a coat ( _winter in Washington_ ) but underneath it you are wearing a expensive rented suit and uuugh.

“... Never wanted anything but the best for his children...”

Jade looks like she’s about to cry. You consider going over to awkwardly pat her back, but Rose and Jane are already there. You’re amazed she held out even this long, actually.

John twitches beside you. You glance to him quickly, but he’s sitting up straight and his face is blank. You’re not sure whether this is more or less alarming than it would be if he was on the verge of breaking down, but it does inspire you to sit up a little straighter yourself.

“... Hardworking, kind, intelligent man...”

It turns out it’s not actually a funeral because the bodies were donated to science, so there can’t really be a visitation and a burial or however funerals go. Instead, you are all sitting outside in some kind of open-air amphitheater at the park, and people make their “they were great people and we liked them” speeches on the stage. “Memorial service” is probably the more appropriate term.

“... Honored to have known him.”

Kar’s father ( _a surprisingly quiet and wellspoken man_ ) steps down from the stage as Kanae’s mother steps up on the other side. As soon as it clicks, you look around frantically, but fortunately enough Rose is already making her way over, and she manages to sit down beside you and curl into your side right as Ms.Maryam opens her mouth.

“Linda Lalonde was a brilliant scientist and an adoring mother.”

Rose chokes into your shoulder and you wrap an arm tightly around hers, and dammit your eyes are not starting to water, no, no no no.

_“I just wanted to see my baby girl. I wanted to see her, and Linda wouldn’t let me.”_

If Ms.Lalonde had been a weaker woman, if she hadn’t been so protective of her child, would Rose be here with you right now? Was this a one-or-the-other kind of deal?

Rose’s mourning veil scratches uncomfortably against your neck. You ignore it.

“... May be true that she drank but she still...”

You remember Jane and Roxy’s kitchen counter, back in New York; how Bro always gave every drink Roxy prepared you a suspicious glance then rolled his eyes at himself and went back to his business, and how Rose did the same to every drink her mother prepared, no matter who it went to, and without the never-mind-she-wouldn’t-do-that eyeroll after it.

You remember how Bro always trusted her with Rose-- and you-- anyway.

“... That she should be lost to us, especially in such a way, is a tragedy...”

 _“Fuckin’_ shit _that is a lot of blood.”_

You take a measured breath through your nose and realize that at some point, you closed your eyes. They jerk back open when you feel pressure on your free hand; another hand is wrapped around it, now, and you follow the connecting arm with your eyes until they’re focused on John’s face. He gives you a wobbly smile and squeezes your hand again. You tentatively squeeze back.

On your other side, Rose is shaking with silent sobs.

“... Great loss to both communities-- ours and science... We will miss her so, so much.”

Ms.Maryam steps down.

“Anyone else?” Bro calls, gruffly. The amphitheater is silent but for somebody’s quiet sobs and the whistling of the wind. “... Alright then.”

“Thank you all for coming,” Roxy manages, a forced smile plastered across her face. Sober. Huh. _You_ wouldn’t have complained if she’d come drunk. “We really appreciate it. So. Thank you, again.”

The two of them move to their feet, and the crowd follows suit. John lets go of your hand as you half-help half-lift Rose, and she just buries her face in the fabric covering your bicep and makes this breathy sobbing whine and _dammit_ but your little sister is crying and you can’t fix it. You can’t. So you spare a second to make sure John gets over to Jade alright and then you wrap your arms around Rose, bury your face in her hair and whisper “I’m sorry,” over and over, while she cries and cries and ruins the suit and you let her.

You stay there until the slush-rain starts and you all need to find shelter or get sick. Even then she doesn’t want to move, and you have to manhandle her onto Bro’s back so he can carry her to the car.

 

You end up at the girls’ house. Aside from your families, only Kanae and Kar and their families come along, although you _thought_ you might’ve seen Kar and Kanae argue the tall blonde chick that hates your guts and is apparently John’s ex out of coming too. What was her name, anyway. Victoria? Valerie? You have no idea.

Rose, Jade, and Kanae disappear into their room and Jane gives you this _look_ when you and John try to follow them, so you kind of sulk back out to the living room and stand there awkwardly with your hands in your pockets and wish you could just run across the street and change out of this damn suit. John and Kar are mumbling to each other on your couch while Jane, Jake and Dirk make nice with the Vantas-Leijons and Ms.Maryam. It’s really boring. And awkward. You feel awkward. Have you mentioned how awkward you feel yet?

Wait.

Head count.

Where’s Roxy.

You duck into the kitchen and find her balanced, cross-legged, in a chair, glaring at something on the counter. Glaring at the bottle of vodka on the counter. She doesn’t look up when you walk in, but you know she knows you’re there, so you just pull out a chair and sit. She’ll talk if and when she wants to.

Eventually, still without looking to you, she says, quietly, “She was a drunk, but hey, she was brilliant the rest of the time.”

“Ah,” you say.

“It’s like, hey, we’re saying nice things about her so you can’t complain that we’re calling her a lush at her funeral. Memorial service. Thing.”

You’re silent. Roxy scowls harder at the vodka. “Think that’ll be me someday, kiddo?”

“What, no,” you protest. “Rox-- you’re not--”

“Aren’t I?”

“You’re not,” you mutter.

“I don’t want to be the lady they say that kind of thing about at her memorial service,” says she.

“You won’t be,” you argue. “They’ll say, ‘Roxy Lalonde, she was a fucking awesome person and girlfriend and sister and shit. She was also a badass that got away with threatening to smother Dirk Strider with an airplane pillow.’”

“To be completely fair,” she says, her lips beginning to curve up into a smile. “He was kind of emotionally shot at that point.”

“Badass,” you inform her. She laughs and reaches over to jostle your knee.

“You’re a good kid, Dave. Thanks for tryin’ to make me feel better.”

“I’m just telling it like it is,” you say, then make a face, and add, slowly, “And if you’re... really worried about...” you wave a hand in the vodka’s direction. “We’re here for you. And stuff. Especially Crocker.”

The next thing you know, she has your face in her hands and she’s planting a fond kiss on your cheek. You grumble and make a show of wiping it off.

“You’re a piece of work, Dave Strider.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "But Choc," you say, "Dave and John aren't crying all over the place! Shouldn't they be SAD?"  
> Shhhhh, that will be NEXT chapter.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not very good at writing sad things.  
> For reference, the site John uses in this chapter is nlm.nih.gov/medlineplus/ency/article/003090.htm  
> Which I think basically means "if anything I said is wrong, blame the government or the internet, your pick".  
> ETA 7/8/2015: whoo boy. trigger warnings for death, murder, discussion thereof, graphic descriptions of corpses, and maybe also unreality.

You’re in Rose’s childhood home, and it’s quiet. When you went in... before, it wasn’t this quiet. At first, Bro and Jake were there. Then the police showed up and _that_ was pretty much the _opposite_ of quiet. And when you went with Rose to pick up her things, you were bickering and clattering up and down stairs and it was pretty noisy, you guess.

It’s not the peaceful nobody-is-home quiet, either, the kind of quiet that’s natural and inconspicuous. It’s more like... the quiet _your_ new house was, right before _he_ broke in. Tense, shit-is-about-to-get-real quiet.

Fuck. Striders do not get scared of empty houses.

You’re standing just inside the front door. Against your will, you look over to the juncture of the living room and kitchen, where puddles of blood once framed the bodies of one Ms.Lalonde and her Mr.Egbert.

They’re not there.

Well, duh. The bodies were moved away ages ago, you already knew that...

You look again, a little more carefully.

The carpets covering the bloodstains aren’t there.

Neither are the bloodstains.

You stare uncomprehendingly for a moment, then jerk to your senses when you hear a loud _crash_ from the kitchen. Then you stare uncomprehendingly at _that_ for a few seconds, because what the hell, you can _see_ the entire kitchen from here, the counter’s not that tall, there’s nobody in it and nothing moved.

Well you can’t see the floor, but you have no idea what could’ve happened there.

You take the hesitant few strides you need to get to the kitchen and

Oh _god_

No no no no no _Ms.Lalonde how_ no NO

You start backpedalling and immediately trip over something _oh God Mr.Egbert_ and your shoes squeaks against the floor under the sickening little wet _splash_ of _oh GOD_ and then you run into something-- some _one,_ they put a hand on your shoulder, and when you whirl around, there’s your-- your _father_ , and there’s a hole in his forehead dripping blood down his face as he gives you a wicked grin _fuck FUCK_ you wrench yourself away and take off up the stairs, tripping and slipping in red _fuck JADE no no NO dammit_ and again at the landing _what the fuck Jake NO, oh god is that more red down the hall is that-- that’s Roxy fuck_  

You dash to the left on impulse and force open the first door you come across, and can’t help a startled, choked cry-- because _Rose, no, no I was supposed to protect you my kid sister is dead murdered bleeding in front of me no stop how why._ You hear footsteps behind you and realize you’re cornered and _what if I just stayed here and let him take me I failed you Rose I can’t_ but the part of you that’s still shrieking _survive!_ says that if you could just face him for _two seconds_ maybe you could

flashstep

right past him, and then you’re off again, out on the stupid tiny balcony thing, and it’s fucking _pouring rain_ so you almost fall when you have to step over-- over-- over _Jane_ and then you’re running up the stairs, three at a time, staggering into some kind of observatory and there

under the telescope

is Bro.

In some distant corner of your mind, you’re aware of your knees giving out, of falling to the floor where the blood soaks into your shirt and your pants, but the smell of copper is clogging the air and you can barely breathe as it is and _Bro is dead._

There are footsteps on the stairs behind you, but they’re not hurried. In fact, they pause almost politely at the top of the stairs, in the doorway behind you, and then a hesitant, familiar voice murmurs out a confused, “Dave?”

“ _John_ ,” you say, hoarsely, looking up so fast your neck cracks. He winces. You ignore it. “John you can’t-- you have to get out of here or he’ll-- _leave already damn you_ \--”

“You’re not really making any sense,” he laughs, a little awkwardly, and offers a hand to you. “Come on, Dave, let’s go home and you can take a nap, you’re probably just sleep-deprived again.”

You open your mouth to protest, looking over your shoulder, but-- the body is gone. So’s the blood. You look between John and the telescope frantically, but John remains innocently confused and the telescope remains not-in-a-pool-of-blood. Your hands curl into fists, then quickly uncurl as you stare at the ends of your sleeves in horror. _The blood is still there_. You weren’t hallucinating, and there’s footsteps on the stairs but John’s _still there too_ and he looks over his shoulder and gives a cheerful, polite, “Oh, excuse me,” and moves out of the way for _your father_ who grins back and _no no NO FUCK NOT JOHN TOO_ raises his gun but you _won’t lose another one you’ll go down protecting him_ dive at John, arms raised to shove him out of the way and

pass

right

through him.

 

“Dave!”

There’s hands on your shoulders and you kick out in blind panic; there’s a grunt (“ _Je_ sus”) and the hands are gone for a second, but then they return, scrabbling around for a way to pin you down. There’s not much fight in you right now, and you’re still mostly asleep, so eventually they manage to get you with a full-body pin.

Your eyes adjust to the darkness after a moment, and as things fall into place, you bring in a vaguely calmer breath; this is your bedroom, the pillow pile in the corner; the person lying across you is John; everything that just happened was a dream.

Just a dream.

The breath shudders out of your lungs.

“Are you _crying?_ ” John demands, peering at your face. You want to swat him away but he’s still got your hands pinned.

“ _No_ ,” you insist, but your voice sounds hoarse and upset even to you, and you have no idea what your face is doing right now. Assuming he can even see it. In an absolutely pitiful attempt at changing the subject, you add, “Not gonna attack you again, sorry about that by the way, you can get off me now.”

He rolls off you obligingly, but stays stretched out next to you, propping himself up on one elbow and reaching with the other hand to press it against your forehead. His hand feels warm and you lean into it, abruptly realizing you are _freezing_ and maybe that’s why you’re shivering like this? Maybe?

“You’re burning up, man,” John whispers, moving his hand to ruffle at your hair. You make a noise of absentminded agreement, eyes fluttering closed again. “Should I get your brother or something?”

“Nah,” you sigh. “Be fine in the mornin’...”

He presses his hand against your forehead again and makes a noise of skepticism and concern. You decide to ignore it in favor of curling closer to the heat vent.

“I think you have a fever.”

“Be fine in the mornin’,” you repeat.

“I’m going to get Bro, okay?” he says, taking his hand back. You can hear the shift and rustle of his clothes and the blankets and the creak of the floorboards that mean he’s standing up.

“No,” you complain, rolling over and reaching out in time to catch your fingers on the end of his sweatpants as he tries to escape. “Don’ get Bro... let’im sleep.”

He makes a face at you that you don’t feel like trying to read much into, but crouches next to you again, gently prying your fingers off his pants. “You must’ve been having one _hell_ of a nightmare there.”

You flinch. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout.”

He rolls his eyes. “You know how you usually sleep, Dave? You sleep like a log. You’re dead silent and you don’t move.”

“Point?”

“I kind of notice when you wake me up shouting and struggling against your blankets.”

“C’n we _not_ talk ‘bout this,” you suggest, rolling back towards the heat vent. John makes an exasperated noise behind you.

“You know, it’s two in the morning and I don’t really want to be doing this either but I also don’t want to get up in the morning and discover we should have dragged your sorry ass to the hospital, so we can talk about your nightmare or we can talk about how sick you are. It’s your choice.”

“You’re a dick and I hate you,” you say.

“No you don’t,” he says. Something illuminates the room behind you, and you prop yourself up and squint against the light. “Is that Rose? Oh my gosh, is your desktop you and your family when you were younger? You’re adorable.”

You sit all the way up so fast you feel dizzy for a second.

“What th’fuck ‘re you doin’?”

“I’m going to look up what to do for a fever.”

“Stop, no, ‘m _fine_ an’ you need t’ get away from my laptop,” you grumble, reaching for it. John just moves it out of your reach, but you don’t feel like moving back so you end up with your torso draped across his lap. He balances the laptop on your shoulderblades and resumes typing.

“You must not get sick very often, you’re really bad at it,” he observes.

“Th’hell can you even be good at bein’ sick,” you mutter.

“Sshhhhh,” he croons at you, one hand straying from the keyboard to pat your head. You bat it away. “Have you recently travelled to a third world country?”

“What in th’fuck?”

“MedlinePlus wants to know, Dave.”

“Never been out’ve the States,” you admit, finally deciding that fuck it, you are way too tired to fight this.

“Okay, so... actually I need to get up now,” he announces.

You groan. “Why.”

“Because I need to get a thermometer and water and medicine and shit.”

“I’m comfortable.”

“No you’re not.”

“I don’t feel like movin-- _ass_ hole! Put me down!”

He dumps you on the bed. You flip him the bird and burrow under the pile of blankets he must have abandoned when you woke him up.

Outside, you can hear the quiet _slosh_ ing of a car driving down the street; inside, you can hear the creak of floorboards as John moves around, a brief rush of water from the tap, and a noise from Bro and Jake’s room that sounds suspiciously like snoring. Your bets are on Jake.

Your own door opens and shuts again, almost silently, and then John drags the blankets back from your head and settles down next to you with the laptop again.

“Open your mouth,” he says.

“Why,” you say.

“Because I need to take your temperature to make sure you’re not dying, idiot. Open your mouth _please?_ ”

“Since you asked so nicely,” you mutter, then obediently open your mouth. He slides the thermometer under your tongue.

“Close your mouth.”

You do. You then proceed to spend the next two minutes trying not to instinctively spit out the foreign object, swallowing more frequently than you ever do when you’re not _trying not to_ , and doing a piss-poor job of ignoring the way the metallic taste on your tongue makes you want to throw up.

“One-oh-two,” John announces. He glances back down at the computer. “Question time!”

“Oh boy,” you deadpan.

“Do you ‘have a serious medical illness, such as a heart problem, sickle cell anemia, diabe--’”

“None of the above.”

“Wow, rude, way to let me finish.”

“Are you actually concerned about my health or is this just a new way to harass me?” you demand, even as your body shudders with another chill. John glances at you sympathetically ( _you guess that answers that_ ) and then back at the laptop.

“Any major problems with your immune system?”

“No.”

“Does it hurt to pee?”

“Th’hell are you even looking at,” you lean over and squint at the screen. John tilts it helpfully.

“It’s like... a list of things that would mean you should call a doctor.”

“I don’t need a damn doctor,” you grouse.

“Yeah, well, you also said you didn’t have a fever, so,” he scrolls back up the page, studies it, gives you a considering look, and then yanks away the blankets. You yelp and curl into his side for warmth.

“What the hell is your problem!”

“‘Do NOT bundle up someone who has the chills,’” he reads, cheerfully, then gives one measly blanket back to you. “Aspirin or tylenol?”

“Shit. I don’t know,” you press your face into the side of his ribs as you try to cover your entire body with the blanket. He squirms a little, but otherwise allows it. “Both?”

“No, I’m pretty sure you have to pick one or the other.”

“Aspirin, I guess,” you concede. His torso shifts against your head, and after the quiet clatter of a bottle, he presses a pill and a glass of water into your hands. You swallow them down, then turn to bury your face back in his side.

“I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be sharing body heat with you or not,” he muses, finally shutting your laptop and setting it to the side.

“Gimme a break,” you croak. “Also, more water.”

“Did it occur to you that I actually have to get up again for that?”

“Yes, but it’s worth it this time.”

“You’ll thank me for all this in the morning,” he informs you as he nudges you off, picks up the glass and heads to the door again.

“Probably,” you agree.

As soon as he steps out of the room, he pauses, and there are  hushed voices in the hall and you think _whoops, shit_. That would be Bro finally getting up to see what all the commotion is. Actually, you guess it could be Jake, you wouldn’t put it past Bro to make him check for him.

When John finally returns, he’s carrying not only the glass, but a full water bottle. “Bro says to tell you you’re a moron.”

“Course,” you mumble, reaching out. “Gimme gimme.”

He hands you the glass and sets the water bottle on the table. As you’re downing the water, he slides onto the bed next to you again. When you’re done, he takes the glass back and sets it on next to the water bottle, and you just kind of stretch out next to each other.

“The internet have any other ideas for fixing me, doc?” you yawn.

“There was something about a sponge bath, but,” he stops and makes a face, and that’s perfectly fine because you’re laughing too hard to pay any attention to anything else he might’ve had to say anyway.

 

“Fever dreams,” Bro guesses as he glances at the thermometer, in the morning. “Or just a fucked-up nightmare that coincided with your having a fever. Hundred one, by the way.”

“Dammit,” you mutter.

“Look at it this way,” he offers. “If you’re lucky, you got Egbert sick too and you’ll be able to make this up to him by taking care of him in return.”

“I’m not sure I appreciate these ill-wishes on my health,” John mumbles into the pillow, cracking one eye open to glare up at Bro. Your brother shrugs unrepentantly.

“Guess I’ll leave you two to it, then. Stay in bed today, kid,” he warns, jabbing his finger in your direction. “I mean it. If I find out you tried to go out...”

“Where are _you_ going?” you demand.

“I’m taking Lalonde senior to my job to see if they’ll take her to help me with the programming on the bots. Speaking of jobs, think about it. When you’re not dying anymore. Alright, don’t do anything stupid, I’m leaving now.”

You don’t even get to say anything snarky because he flashsteps out of the room. You let your head fall back the pillow with an irritated sigh.

“You might be the only person I know with luck bad enough to get a fever three days before Christmas,” John muses.

“Thanks, Egbert, I feel so special now,” you snipe, probably a little more maliciously than you really mean. He just snorts and reaches over to bop your head.

“Whatever. Hey, you were talking to your brother about your nightmare, right? Does that mean I get to know now?”

“Basically, everyone died,” you growl, dragging the blanket over your head and turning away from John sulkily. You are the five year old. It is you.

“...Everyone?” he repeats, voice wavering a little.

“English, Crocker, Rox, Ms.Lalonde, Jade, your...” you falter momentarily, then continue, stubborn but apologetic, “Your father... Rose, Br--... Bro. And. You. Kind of.”

“How was I _kind of_ dead?” John asks, part disbelief and part honest curiosity.

You press your palms to your temples and try not to think about it too hard. “I thought you were alive but then I tried to touch you and I just went through you so I think you were a ghost or something, okay? Or a hallucination or some shit but hey, aren’t all the parts of a dream hallucinations, sort of? It’s like, whoa, why do drugs when you could just sleep while you’re--”

John raises an eyebrow. You shut up.

“I didn’t realize you even knew what my father looked like.”

You cringe. “Uh. I saw. Them. After. Yeah.”

“Oh,” John mumbles.

“Yeah.”

There’s a long, awkward pause.

“I had a dream like that, too,” he finally says, and you turn to stare at him.

“Really?”

“Not-- last night,” he amends. “Night before.”

You wonder whether or not you get to request more details. On one hand it seems insensitive ( _look, Rose, you’re learning!_ ). On the other hand, he’s been doing the same goddamn thing.

“It was like my brain was just running through all the possible ways it could have turned out,” he continues, on his own. “Rose... told me what happened the night we were at the police station.”

“She did?” you frown. “When?”

He looks a little... embarrassed? Ashamed? “After you freaked out at Kar’s house.”

“You didn’t tell me,” you say, and then you want to hit yourself because _no shit, Sherlock_.

“Well it’s not really the kind of thing that comes up in casual conversation. Also I thought you might be kind of irritated that I was prying.”

Point John.

“Where are you going with this?”

“I just...” he scrubs at his eyes, and you realize, abruptly, that this might be the most upset you’ve ever seen him. “In the dream, I saw... what could’ve happened... if Jake hadn’t shown up. Your brother would be dead and you’d be dead or-- or _taken_ or worse, I don’t even know, and Rose and Jade had been at Rose’s house when-- _it_ happened so th-they were dead or taken or worse _too_ and it just cycled through different versions, dead and taken and worse and sometimes I’d show up while they were still alive but dying and sometimes I’d show up and they were already dead and I don’t even know which was worse.”

He pauses to take a deep breath and you can’t help it, sorry John you are a curious kitten and _he_ got to ask questions about _your_ shitty dream so it’s only fair. “Did you get me while I was dying?”

He winces. “Yes.”

“What’d I say?”

“You told me to look after Rose and not to forget to feed the cat,” he laughs, leaning towards you to bump your foreheads together affectionately. His eyes look watery, and you reach out to hug him instinctively, arms under his and around his back and _squeeze_. He reaches around and squeezes back. “You had-- you had a _bullet_ in your arm, it’d hit your artery and you _knew_ it and you told me to feed the damn _cat_.”

“Did you?” you ask, because you are a dick and yes, it was necessary.

“ _Dave_ ,” John laughs, sounding a little choked up, and buries his face into your neck. You stiffen automatically, but actually you initiated this and it’s not really that bad.

Are you an affectionate sick person? Is that what’s going on here?

“No I did not feed the cat,” he informs you. The words are muffled into your skin and it kind of tickles, really. “I was too busy trying to-- to put pressure on the wound. So the ambulance could come and-- you would’ve possibly had a chance.”

“Oh. Thank you,” you tell his hair, and you guess you mean it? That’s strange to think about really, thank you for trying to save my life in your nightmare real nice of you. “Wait, your dreams let you call an ambulance?”

“Yes?” John frowns against your neck.

“ _Un_ fair,” you grumble. “I tried to call nine-one-one in a dream once, and the operator told me I had the wrong number.”

“They did _not_ ,” John gasps out through a laugh.

“They _did,_ ” you insist, and then he’s laughing harder, maybe a little hysterically? Yes a little hysterically, because after a minute the laughing turns into sobbing and you can feel the damp of tears against your jaw, and then you remember that brief, horrified moment where you reached for him and he wasn’t _real_ and fuck, there are times when it’s okay to cry and now is _so_ not one of them but you bet if anyone asks for some reason at a later point you can say you were still delirious with fever. So you bury your face in his hair and you both cry and it’s a little like bonding and a lot like _god life is unfair_.

“He’s dead,” John sobs.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him, and if your voice cracks a little with it, well, he’s the only one who has to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALSO, IMPORTANT: I'm not sure if the nightmares require a trigger warning or not, but if you think they do, please, please, please let me know! I don't want to make anyone upset or uncomfortable.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA 7/8/2015: trigger warning for brief mention of death and murder.

“Dirk?”

You try to bury your head into your pillow as inconspicuously as possible-- like it’s just an action you did in your sleep that coincidentally obscures your face from view. There’s a quiet creaking of hinges that you recognize as your bedroom door shutting, and the light beyond your eyelids goes away. You’re sure that if you opened your eyes, they would adjust and the darkness would not seem so total; you doubt that John’s done with the bathroom, so there ought to be some light leaking into the room under the crack in the door, from the hallway. But you kind of prefer this total darkness right now. The light is distracting. The dark is kind of mind-numbing, which is what you want right now, because--

Your name is Dirk Strider, and you don’t _mind_ being behind the steering wheel, but sometimes you want to just take a break in the passenger seat and let someone else drive for a while.

Dave, for reasons beyond your comprehension, has actually been perfectly docile all day. He let John and Jake fuss at him and take his temperature and give him medicine and keep him holed up in his room. Dave. Stayed in his room without complaint. _For an entire day_.

To be completely fair, he was asleep for most of it, but still.

It’s just _so much fucking stress_ , everything is. You don’t know that you’ve really had a day of downtime since that fateful game of laser tag when you found out your father was out of prison. There was the first, frantic move to get out of Houston, and then trying to settle down in New York only to have _him_ show up, and then you needed to move _again_ , and then Jake showed up and-- well, you can’t complain about the results, can you ( _and you grudgingly give Dave brownie points for that, in your head, even though you definitely had that under control thank you very much_ ), but at the time, at first, it was just another thing, another person to worry about. And then you made it to Washington and you thought you might have a break, just for a little bit, to chill out and spend some time with your boyfriend and your family, but _nope_ , turns out your father was a step ahead of you the entire time and the next thing you know Ms.Lalonde and her boyfriend are _dead_ and the asshole is trying to take your little brother. The whole thing where you were pretty sure you were going to die was a lot of fun, too, thank fuck for Jake’s pistols ( _and Jake, but that goes without saying_ ), and then there was the whole fiasco at the police station. It was pretty damn sweet of Dave to offer the Egbert kids a place to stay, but it’s also another thing to worry about until John turns 18, even if that is admittedly not too far in the future. Then there was dealing with the stuff in the will, and the memorial service, and then Dave had to go and get sick right before Christmas and Roxy showed up to the job interview hungover and you think Rose might be having some sort of mini teenage soap opera romance going on over at the girls’ house and you are just so fucking done with life in general at this point.

Footsteps pad across the room; the bed dips and you have to fight gravity not to roll into the middle. A second later, a pair of hands is kneading at your shoulders, and you let out a startled, appreciative groan.

“Little more awake than you’d have me think, eh?” Jake murmurs, and you heave a mental sigh of relief that he only sounds tiredly amused, not offended. He brushes his fingers over the back of your neck affectionately, then removes his hands from your person to settle down beside you under the covers. You roll over to face him.

“Little more awake than I’d prefer to be in general,” you sigh. He laughs quietly, and as your eyes adjust to the dark you consider the novelty of a Jake who is not wearing glasses. “Kids settle down alright?”

“I think Dave was already out by the time I hit the lights,” he yawns. “John might stay up a little later worrying over him, but they’ll be fine. Getting fluids and meds and rest.”

You move at the same time; he lifts his arm as you writhe closer, as smoothly as though you planned it out, so he can immediately drop his arm back down to drape over your hips.

“What about you?” he murmurs, breath ghosting over your forehead. “Are you okay? Wait, apologies, that was possibly a stupid question.”

“I’ll survive,” you say. You discover it is awkward to shrug while lying down on your side. “That’s all that matters, right?”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“You wound me so.”

“You’re overworking yourself.”

“I know my own limits,” you insist, because it isn’t _work_ that’s doing it.

“Hm,” Jake hums, and you’re going to ignore the nagging feeling that he isn’t so sure about that, himself, and is neither agreeing nor disagreeing for the sake of not arguing when you are admittedly pretty stressed and tired.

You let your fingers curl into his shirt as his rub absentminded circles at the small of your back.

“I have a job interview tomorrow,” he says, eventually.

“Good,” you mumble, mostly into your pillow. “Great. Where?”

“Outdoor recreation store. You know, hiking and hunting and stuff.”

“Mh. Sounds good. For you. And stuff.”

“Yeah.”

He exhales, long and slow, and stops rubbing your back to haul you closer. “Hey. Dirk.”

“Mm.” Jake is really warm. Makes you kind of sleepy. Well. Sleepier. Wait he’s talking to you.

“Let me help sometimes. With. The stuff I can help out with. Like taking care of Dave and John and wrapping up Ms.Lalonde’s affairs. Okay? Please?”

You close your eyes and rest your forehead on his shoulder. You don’t want to discuss feelings and stressors and work right now. You want to rest and pretend you’re not responsible for anything. “Y’can help me intimidate Rose’s suitors, how’s that.”

He laughs. “I’ll take what I can get.”

“You can get some fucking _sleep_ ,” you mutter, swatting his ass lightly. He startles, then huffs and wriggles back to sweep his fingertips up your bare si _iiiiiiiiide son of a BITCH_.

“English I will kill you and harvest your organs to sell on the black market,” you gasp, trying to roll away when he reaches out with his other hand. He just snickers and follows, propping himself on one elbow to loom, a mischievous glint in his eye. “English-- Jake I will end you, I really _hnnaaaaaahah_ stop that asshole, no, I want to _sleep hahaha no stop Jake stop that Jake Jake--_ ”

“Say I can help,” he demands, grinning as you writhe against the barely-there touches to your stomach, your sides, your neck, _why the fuck do you have to be so fucking ticklish_. “Go on, you can do it.”

“M-mother _fucker_ ,” you wheeze out between giggles. “Fine, I-- mercy, mercy, you can help, oh shit, Jake _stop that_.”

He beams, and lowers himself down again, leaning into your personal space only to plant a kiss on your cheek. “Thank you.”

“You’re an asshole,” you sigh, sides still trembling even as you curl into him again. “A bastard of the first degree.”

“And yet I’m your boyfriend.”

“Dave’s fault.”

“Dave is pretty swell that way.”

“Sleep, dickwad.”

“As you wish.”

“Don’t you quote _The Princess Bride_ at me--”

“I don’t see how it’s my fault we’re not sleeping yet when you keep picking arguments--”

“Oh yeah I am definitely to blame here--”

The door swings open and you both blink in confusion at John’s silhouette.

“I respect your right to have a domestic in the privacy of your own bedroom whenever you like but I can _hear you_ over in our room and if you wake Dave up no place on Earth will be safe for you for as long as you live.”

 

The first thing you register is the smell of butter and syrup, and your brain promptly, helpfully supplies _pancakes, maybe waffles_. The second thing you register is that huh, actually you kind of feel nauseous, is food really a good idea? Or are you just so _hungry_ you feel nauseous?

The remnants of your latest fever dream flit behind your eyelids in the dark. You have a vague memory of orange feathers and green fire and the flash of steel, but aside from that--

You open your eyes before you can remember the bloody parts.

John raises his eyebrows at you.

“You look like shit,” he says.

Your name is Dave Strider and you’re probably still sick.

“At least it’s an unusual occurrence for me, unlike some people in this room,” you croak, fumbling for your water bottle on the bedside table as Jade’s “ _oooooh, buuuuuurn_ ” drifts in from the hallway. You gesture vaguely in her general direction as you take a long drink.

“The girls were worried about you,” John explains.

“Worried you wouldn’t get us presents ‘cause you were sick!” Jade corrects.

“Okay, no, I call bullshit, Rose totally checked my closet and found the presents last week,” you grumble.

“I would claim my innocence,” Rose calls, sticking her head through the doorway to raise her eyebrows at you. Jade pops in behind her. “But then it would be more difficult for me to protest the absence of a gift addressed for myself.”

“That’ll teach _you_ to snoop.”

“It’s under his desk,” John mutters to her.

“You fucking traitor,” you splutter.

“Feeling any better, brother dearest?” Rose murmurs, striding over to brush your hair back and feel your forehead. “Mh. You’re still fairly warm.”

“Should I go grab some food for him?”

“I’m not--” you try to start, and when Rose’s hand covers your mouth you merely narrow your eyes and lick a broad stripe over her palm. She snatches her hand back, wiping it viciously against her skinny jeans ( _Rose owns skinny jeans? whatever, never mind, not important, focus Strider_ ) as she glowers at you.

“If nothing else, you’re already sick and you should be more concerned about what could be on my hands.”

“Some very, very classy black nail polish,” you raise your eyebrows. “Had a girls’ night, did you? Did each others’ nails and hair, talked about b-- huh. That doesn’t quite work out with you does it.”

“I think the Egberts need to leave now so they don’t see me beating you senseless,” Rose says.

“ _Hey_ ,” John says. “I’ve been working hard to keep him alive these last few days, thanks, you don’t get to kill him _now_.”

“Out,” Rose says.

“I would argue,” Jade says. “But actually I haven’t had breakfast yet, so, come on John, let’s go help Jane with brunch.”

“Don’t let Bro near the eggs,” Rose warns, and Jade gives her this bright little smile and Rose smiles back and wait, you could’ve sworn-- that is _totally_ the kind of face Roxy and Jane made at each other back when they first got together, holy hell you were still going to public schools then, nostalgia much, _anyway_ you thought-- Rose and Maryam?-- but Rose’s expression is definitely--

You did not need this headache.

John merely raises an eyebrow at your confused grimace and follows his sister out of the room.

“So Roxy decided our house had not reached its maximum potential Christmas spirit and she hung mistletoe up everywhere,” Rose tells you.

“Jesus fucking christ, you can stop right there, really you can,” you groan, letting your head drop back to the pillows. “I already know more than I need to about her and Crocker’s sex life, you do not need to tell me more.”

“That’s not what I was-- alright, yes, we did walk in on them necking on the couch. However, this is a nearly daily occurrence, and _not my point_.”

At this point, Rose climbs over you to flop down at your side and rest her head on your stomach, and you prop yourself up on your elbows, because _hello_ , cuddles mean conversations about feelings, you can take a hint. You narrows your eyes.

“Did you and Jade get stuck under the mistletoe together?”

“What-- no, that’s not, no. We did not,” Rose frowns up at you. “But, I, ah. Kanae came over yesterday afternoon.”

“So it was you and _Maryam_ \--” But then that look with Jade--

“No, that’s not it either,” Rose sighs, then smirks a little at the way her breath ghosting over your stomach makes you squirm. “ _I_ did not get stuck under the mistletoe with anyone. I’m offended, actually, Strider, do you think I would let that happen?”

“Lalonde, please, you are making me play guessing games right after I woke up from a fever drea _mmm wha th’ f--_ ”

You aren’t sure if there’s an expression for _that was not an invitation to stick thermometers under my tongue_ , but you give it your best shot anyway.

Rose mostly ignores you.

Two minutes later, she plucks it out of your mouth, examines it, and quietly announces “one hundred, even,” as she sets it to the side again.

“So there’s mistletoe all over your house and you’re having a crisis but _you_ weren’t actually a part of whatever happened to cause said crisis,” you prompt. Rose scowls.

“Who said I’m having a crisis?”

“Your head is in my lap. Also I’m your brother, I’d be a failure at everything if I couldn’t tell when my baby sister was having a crisis.”

“Baby? You’re not even a full day older than I am--”

“Are we really going to start in on that again, really--”

“You’re the one who--”

“Stop, just stop, tell me about the crisis that you claim not to be having, we do not need to have that argument again.”

“I never specified whether I was or was not having a crisis,” Rose sniffs, then laughs when you groan and shrieks when you lunge forward to ruffle at her hair. “Dave-- _Dave!_ ” She bats your hands away and shoves you back onto the mattress, wrestling you down. “You’re incorrigible.”

“You’re just lucky I’m still just sick enough not to put up a real fight,” you scoff.

“You can admit I beat you at things sometimes. It’s alright. Nobody is going to judge you.”

“That is bullshit and you know it. Crisis, come on, Jane can only occupy the Egberts for so long.”

“How can I possibly be expected to have a heartfelt discussion with such pressuring?”

“ _You’re_ the one who decided to have this conversation now, couldn’t have waited until after breakfast--”

“Brunch.”

“What the hell, fine, brunch, why is it brunch, what’s wrong with breakfast,” you complain.

“It’s nearly eleven,” she says patiently. “Late enough that it _could_ be considered lunch time, but still early enough so that--”

“Alright, whatever, you wanted to have this conversation now, go ahead. I am all ears.”

“And attitude.”

You make a noise of exasperation.

“My apologies. I. Well,” she curls up against your side again, her voice dropping to barely more than a whisper. “ _I_ wasn’t the one who got stuck under the mistletoe, but. Fuck, I. Hm.”

You stare at her, willing a combination of _Kanae_ and _Jade_ and _mistletoe_ and _distressed Rose_ to add up to something logical, or at least Rose-logical, in your brain, and then

You _get_ it.

“Oh my god,” you say.

Rose’s face is pained.

“No, really, you-- they-- and you--”

You can’t help it, you really can’t, you crack up, oh god how is this even your _life_.

“Stop it,” Rose hisses, flushing a heated pink. “Stop that, cease and desist, someone is going to _hear you_ \--”

“No, I, I’m sorry, I-- jesus-- _help_ \--” you gasp. “I don’t-- sorry, sorry, sorry, oh my _god_ Rose--”

“I hate you,” Rose moans, pulling a pillow over to cover her face.

“Shhhh, it’s okay,” you snicker, patting her shoulder. “It’s completely natural, plenty of people would--”

“ _Dave_ ,” she whines.

Your chest heaves with your attempts to get enough air into your lungs, and suddenly your throat is catching around a hiccup-- you and Rose just look at each other for a moment, startled, and then you _both_ burst into laughter, practically _sobbing_ with it until your sides ache from the exertion and your cheeks hurt from the grinning, and you are _still hiccuping_ , what the actual fuck.

This is how Bro finds you ten minutes later.

After a brief pause, in which he raises his eyebrows at you over his shades and neither of you can quite stop giggling, he says, “As much as I’d like to leave you two here to do your thing, the food will go cold eventually, assuming the Egberts don’t eat it all first.”

“Bacon?” you manage, hopefully. If you’re going to tempt fate-- and your still faintly-nauseous stomach-- you might as well do it with something worthwhile.

“Only toast for you,” he says, goddamn him.

“But I want bacon.”

“Life sucks that way,” he says amiably, crossing to your bedside table to hand you your shades. You blink at them in surprise. You hadn’t even realized you weren’t wearing them. “Start simple and work up to the good stuff, sick kid.”

He leaves as you’re sliding your shades on, Rose’s breathing finally evening out from where she’s lying beside you.

At least your hiccups are gone.

“Jade and Maryam, huh,” you say. “Should I be able to see that? Because I can see that.”

“It was pretty hot,” Rose agrees. After a moment of contemplation, she adds, “Don’t tell them I told you about that.”

“The smooching part or the part where you thought it was hot?” you ask, and Rose, _wow rude_ , shoves you off your own bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TLDR; being the supportive parent figure(s) is not all fun and games, Choc finally makes an obvious reference that threesome you see in the tags up there


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA 7/8/2015: trigger warnings for discussion of death and a brief mention of suicide. also, i have many regrets re: this fic and the way trigger warnings and social justice bloggers are discussed is one of them.

carcinoGeneticist [CG] began pestering twinArmageddons [TA]

CG: YOU’RE ON YOUR OWN.

TA: waiit what

TA: 2hiit waiit are you 2ayiing you’re diitchiing me

TA: get your 2orry a22 back here

TA: what happened to no man left behiind

CG: FUCK NO MAN LEFT BEHIND.

CG: I AM DONE WITH THIS. I QUIT.

TA: ii’m telliing tz

CG: WHAT IS THIS, KINDERGARTEN?

CG: KARSON VANTAS YOU STOP THAT THIS INSTANT OR I’M CALLING YOUR MOMMY.

TA: ha

TA: 2eriiou2ly dude don’t leave me alone wiith them

CG: THINGS I DID NOT SAY:

CG: YOU CAN’T RUN AWAY WITH ME.

CG: WAIT, SHIT.

TA: hahahahaha

TA: ii thought you’d never a2k kk

CG: SHUT UP DICKWAD, THAT CAME OUT WRONG.

TA: are you takiing iit back now

TA: ii’m hurt

TA: ii thought we had 2omethiing 2peciial

CG: SHUT THE FUCK UP, SOL, I DIDN’T

CG: NEVER MIND, WHATEVER, I’M GOING TO THE PARK.

CG: YOU CAN’T COME UNTIL YOU’RE DONE BEING AN ASSHOLE.

TA: baby don’t be liike that

CG: FUCK THE FUCK OUT OF YOU, CAPTOR.

TA: come on man you know ii can’t leave

TA: can’t have miitch getting the wrong iidea

CG: I KNOW.

CG: SORRY.

CG: BUT IF I HAVE TO LISTEN TO THEM ANY LONGER I’LL BLEED FROM THE EARS.

CG: OR KILL MYSELF.

CG: OR THEM.

CG: SOL? YOU STILL THERE?

TA: #tw: 2uiiciide

CG: I SWEAR TO GOD I’M GOING TO KILL YOU AND SELL YOUR KIDNEYS ON THE BLACK MARKET.

carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased pestering twinArmageddons [TA]

 

carcinoGeneticist [CG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB]

CG: HEY, JOHN.

EB: hey kar!

EB: i thought your cousins were in town today, shouldn’t you be chilling with them?

CG: HELL NO.

EB: oh. okay?

EB: so what’s up with you?

CG: NOT MUCH, I’M HIDING OUT AT THE PARK RIGHT NOW.

CG: THE FRESH AIR IS CALMING ME DOWN A LOT.

EB: man, your cousins really stress you out that much?

EB: you want to come over here, dude? we could play a shitty RPG or something.

CG: NAH, I’M FINE.

CG: WOULD STRIDER BE OKAY WITH THAT, ANYWAY?

EB: uh... dave is actually sleeping right now!

EB: he’s been sick for the past couple of days. because that is the kind of guy he is.

EB: the kind that gets sick three days before christmas.

CG: THAT WOULD BE BECAUSE HE WENT TO THE MEMORIAL SERVICE FOR YOU.

CG: THE WEATHER WAS SHIT, I’M SURPRISED MORE OF US DIDN’T GET SICK.

CG: I’LL GIVE CREDIT WHERE IT’S DUE, EVEN IF I’M SUSPICIOUS OF THE GUY, HE SEEMS LIKE HE’S REALLY TRYING TO SUPPORT ALL OF YOU.

EB: aw, man.

EB: i’m not trying to discredit dave or anything, but he’s probably in this for rose. big brother thing, you know?

EB: and i think he had his own experience in the whole ordeal, he was pretty fucked up at the police station and i think he’s been having some really shitty fever nightmares.

EB: it’s got nothing to do with me.

EB: damn, maybe i shouldn’t have said that about the police station and the fever dreams, he probably trusted me not to say anything about that!

EB: not that i think you’d tell anyone, kar, it’s just.

EB: bluh.

CG: YEAH.

CG: BLUH.

CG: WHATEVER, WE’LL SEE HOW HE TURNS OUT NOW THAT WE’RE KIND OF MOVING ON.

CG: KIND OF.

CG: ISH.

EB: i really miss him, kar.

CG: … I KNOW.

EB: yeah.

EB: shit.

EB: dave and rose’s family is really nice and i think they’re doing their best but.

CG: IT’S NOT REALLY SOMETHING THAT CAN BE REPLACED.

EB: no, it’s not.

EB: and they’re not trying to replace him, they’re not even trying to pretend they’re replacing him, but he’s still not there and i just

EB: goddammit.

EB: i want him back, kar.

CG: I’M SORRY.

EB: what the hell are you apologizing for? none of this is your fault.

EB: if anything, i should be apologizing for dumping all of this on you.

CG: DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE, EGBERT.

EB: what?

CG: LOOK, I’M GOING TO BE KIND OF BLUNT HERE.

CG: YOUR FATHER WAS BRUTALLY MURDERED. THE FAMILY OF YOUR FRIEND WHOSE MOTHER WAS ALSO BRUTALLY MURDERED HAS TAKEN YOU IN. YOU’RE TRYING TO BE STRONG FOR YOUR SISTER AND NOT CAUSE YOUR TEMPORARY GUARDIANS ANY UNDUE STRESS BY BREAKING DOWN, SO YOU’VE SPENT THE LAST THREE WEEKS RUNNING AROUND WITH A SMILE ON YOUR FACE.

CG: EXCEPT WHEN STRIDER WAS BEING AN ASS.

CG: NO, STOP WHATEVER YOU’RE TYPING, I’M NOT TRYING TO BLAME ANYTHING ON HIM.

CG: I KNOW YOU’RE NOT USED TO BEING THE PERSON WHO NEEDS A HUG AND A MUG OF HOT CHOCOLATE, BUT EVERYONE HAS TO PLAY THE PART EVERY ONCE IN A WHILE.

CG: YOU GET TO GRIEVE, OKAY? THAT’S WHAT YOU DO. YOU’RE ALLOWED TO DO THAT.

CG: IT’S NOT GOING TO STOP SUCKING BUT IF YOU LET YOURSELF DEAL WITH IT, IT MIGHT GET A LITTLE BETTER. EASIER, AT LEAST.

CG: AND NO MATTER HOW DUMB AND CHEESY IT SOUNDS, YOU’RE NOT ALONE.

CG: I GET IT, JADE WILL GET IT, THE STRIDERS AND WHOEVER WILL GET IT.

CG: NOBODY’S GOING TO LOOK DOWN ON YOU FOR BEING UPSET.

EB: thanks, kar.

CG: YEAH, WELL.

CG: BEEN THERE, DONE THAT.

EB: oh.

EB: sorry. sometimes i forget about that.

CG: IT’S ALRIGHT.

CG: WE WERE PRETTY YOUNG.

CG: I STILL MISS THE HELL OUT OF HER SOMETIMES, BUT I’VE GOT DAD, AND DIANE AND NAEM AREN’T THAT BAD.

EB: that is kar-speak for “i love them lots, they are my family and i will beat the shit out of anyone who so much as looks at them funny”, right?

CG: SHUT UP.

EB: anyway.

EB: i mean it. thanks. i actually feel a lot better now.

EB: but hey, on a completely different note, i know your family’s in town and all but are you gonna drop by tomorrow morning?

CG: NO, JOHN. I’M GOING TO MAKE YOU WAIT UNTIL AFTER MY FAMILY LEAVES TOWN TO GIVE YOU YOUR CHRISTMAS PRESENT.

CG: OF COURSE I’LL COME, FUCKWIT.

EB: geez, okay, just asking!!

CG: BUT I DON’T HAVE ANYTHING FOR STRIDER AND LALONDE, AND IF THEY DECIDE TO BE BUTTHURT ABOUT IT, IT’S NOT MY PROBLEM.

CG: IT’S YOURS.

EB: okay!

EB: hey, you’re not still at the park, are you?

EB: you’re going to turn into a karsicle over there.

CG: THAT WAS REALLY FUNNY, JOHN. JUST HYSTERICAL.

CG: KARSICLE. WHO WOULD HAVE THOUGHT OF IT.

CG: THE ANSWER IS YES, I AM STILL AT THE PARK.

CG: SOL WILL DRAG ME BACK TO THE GATHERING OF THE FUCKING IDIOTS IN A WHILE.

EB: wait, sol?

CG: HIS COUSIN IS VISITING, TOO. GOES TO SCHOOL WITH MINE OR SOMETHING.

EB: isn’t sol’s cousin going out with resa’s older sister?

CG: YES.

EB: huh.

CG: DON’T ASK ME ANYTHING ABOUT IT. I HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH IT, AND FRANKLY, I DON’T WANT TO HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH IT.

CG: ANYTHING THAT HOLDS THE POTENTIAL TO END IN RESA AND SOL’S GENE POOLS COMBINING HAS “RECIPE FOR DISASTER” WRITTEN ALL OVER IT.

EB: their babies would be awesome.

CG: THEIR BABIES WOULD BE THE OPPOSITE OF AWESOME.

CG: FUCK.

CG: LET’S TALK ABOUT SOMETHING OTHER THAN PEOPLE RELATED TO SOL AND RESA HAVING BABIES.

EB: would they be ginger with brown and blue eyes or blind brunettes?

CG: YOU NEED TO STOP TALKING.

CG: LEANNE ISN’T EVEN BLIND.

EB: i’m not talking, i’m texting! :D

CG: JUST STOP.

EB: dude, calm down.

EB: it’s not like sol is going to go, “gee, i sure should follow in my cousin’s footsteps and date a pyrope.”

CG: WHEN THE FUCK DID ANYBODY SAY ANYTHING ABOUT THAT?

EB: you are oozing jealousy from your very pores.

EB: do i need to start a memo? i could start a memo and invite the girls.

CG: DON’T YOU DARE.

EB: you know resa and rose are more than happy to talk about this.

CG: I’M NOT JEALOUS OF ANYONE THAT WOULD BE STUPID OH GOD DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT GETTING THE GIRLS IN ON THIS.

EB: maybe naemi too.

EB: think of how happy she would be to have something on her shipping wall half confirmed!

CG: A FAST, PAINLESS DEATH WOULD BE TOO KIND FOR YOU.

EB: SOMEONE sure is grumpy.

CG: WHAT THE FUCK EVER.

CG: JUST DROP IT ALREADY, OKAY? NO MEMO. PLEASE.

EB: fiiiiiine.

EB: go home and make naem make you some hot tea or something, okay?

EB: i will be so pissed off if you get sick, i’m already busy taking care of dave and wrapping all these last minute presents.

CG: THAT’S WHAT YOU GET FOR PUTTING IT OFF UNTIL THE LAST MINUTE, MORON.

EB: i do not have to take this from a guy who sticks his presents in paper bags and drops tissue paper on top of them.

CG: I’LL SEE YOU TOMORROW MORNING, JOHN.

EB: see you tomorrow, kar!

carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB]

 

twinArmageddons [TA] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG]

TA: oh god come 2ave me

TA: may-liin i2 tryiing two talk two me about 2hiippiing

CG: SUCKS TO BE YOU, ASSHAT.

CG: WHY SHOULD I THROW MYSELF IN FRONT OF THE BUS FOR YOU?

TA: becau2e you love me?

TA: and you are a kiind and generou2 2oul who won’t leave hii2 friiend two diie?

TA: come on kar don’t make me beg

CG: I’LL DO IT IF YOU HEAT UP SOME OF THE APPLE CIDER IN THE FRIDGE AND ADD SPICES TO IT.

TA: deal

twinArmageddons [TA] ceased pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG]

 

You wake up in the middle of the night because something _fucking freezing_ just made contact with your bare ankle. It takes your brain a moment to reorganize itself to the point where you can recognize that the shivering mass pressing into your side is John.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, when you make an incoherent noise of confusion. “Tried not t’wake you up. Bed’s too cold. Figured we could share body heat.”

The bed should absolutely not be too cold, there at least fifty blankets on it and like two of them are wool. You flail with a hand until your fingers skim the cover of the heating vent, and you scowl when your recoil is because the metal’s cold instead of burning.

“Go tell Bro to turn the goddamn heating on,” you mutter, dragging your blankets more tightly around yourself as the cold begins to register through the lingering haze of exhaustion.

“But he’s sleeping,” John whines. “It’d be rude.”

“Just because his boyfriend is a fucking furnace doesn’t mean he gets to leave the rest of us to die of hypothermia,” you growl. “Here, move over. If you won’t do it I will.”

He rolls over and steals your meager warm spot as soon as you get up, because he’s a dick that way.

You pad into Bro and Jake’s room without turning on any lights, letting your eyes adjust to the dark so you can tell exactly where Bro’s gut is and give him a sharp poke.

“Wh--” he startles awake, squints up at you in the darkness. “Dave? Th’hell?”

“Turn on the heating,” you hiss, because yeah, sure, you feel no guilt about waking _Bro_ up over this but you guess you’d feel a LITTLE bad if Jake lost sleep over it. “It’s fucking _cold_.”

“Suck it up,” Bro grumbles, rolling away from you to snuggle into Jake’s embrace. Good god. You are going to have to brush your teeth after this. “ _We’re_ not having any problems.”

“Well, _we_ aren’t generating heat through sheer passion and lust or whatever.”

“You _could_ be,” Bro says, and Jake (who is apparently awake) murmurs out a sleepy, disapproving, “ _Dirk_.”

Then he disentangles himself from your brother, adding, “Come on, sport. I’ll show you how to fix the thermostat.”

“Thanks,” you say, giving Bro a smug smile and receiving a one-fingered salute before you’re following Jake out to the living room.

“Give it a minute,” he tells you after he shows you which buttons to press. “And leave your door open so the air can circulate.”

“It’s all cool,” you yawn, and huh, that pun was actually completely unintentional. “Feel warmer just knowing it’s comin’ on.”

Jake just smiles sleepily and herds you back to your room. “Go back to sleep, Dave.”

He slips back into his own room before you can respond, and you roll your eyes at the low murmur of complaints from your brother before turning into your own doorway.

And scowling at the empty spot in the corner where your blanket pile should be.

“You’re an ass,” you inform John. You can barely see him under all the blankets piled on the bed.

“Get yours over here, I can’t feel my toes,” he mutters, pulling back the blankets and glowering at you until you crawl in next to him and curl up. “Is the heat on now?”

“You do not get to pester me about the status of the heating when you refused to check in on it yourself.”

John presses himself closer to you in lieu of a response, and you cringe as he tucks his cold face into your neck and his feet between yours.

“Would it kill you to wear some goddamn socks to bed or something?”

“Yes, Dave. Yes it would. I am deathly allergic to night socks.”

“Night socks,” you repeat, deadpan.

“Shhhhh,” John snickers, warm breath ghosting over your shoulder, and yeah, you GUESS this is better. John is a solid mess of almost-warmth pressed against you, there’s about sixty blankets over you, and you can hear the heating humming to life in the walls. “If we don’t sleep, Santa won’t come.”

“Shit, man, we better get our snooze on,” you scoff, and he laughs again, and you both curl up to sleep.

The fever dreams don’t come back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little shorter than I usually aim to make my chapters, but I wanted to get this out before I left for the weekend. Also I don't know how in depth I'll go with Christmas and I was half done by the time I finished the pesterlogs, so.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wHOA WHAT TLE FINALLY UPDATED WOW HOW'D THAT HAPPEN  
> (fair warning: I feel like my writing style has changed quite a bit since the beginning of this work, so if you feel like the characterizations clash-- well, still feel free to comment on it, but that's why.)  
> ETA 7/8/2015: trigger warning for discussion of death

It’s Christmas!

Screw Christmas, you are _cold_.

“Dave, stop sulking, shouldn’t you be filled with the Christmas spirit?”

“The Christmas spirit is for people who aren’t hypothermic.”

“Oh my _god_ , you whiner, you are not hypothermic.”

“I totally am.”

“ _Dave_.”

You dodge John’s playful shove and nearly topple off the couch in the process. It’s fortunate that you don’t because you’re kind of too tangled in your blanket to get a hand out to brace yourself so that would’ve been a fun header into the _floor_.

He got you (mostly) through illness just to kill you the next morning, you’re certain of it.

“Alternatively,” you continue, determinedly, if a little congested, “The Christmas spirit is for people who _actually get to partake in activities of a celebratory nature_ , which, you will notice, is _not us_.”

John rolls his eyes at you, and you almost dodge his hands when he reaches for you again, but he just helps you squirm back to lean on the back of the sofa, then tugs the blanket more tightly around your shoulders. “Stop whining, doofus, your Bro and Jake will wake up soon and the girls will be over any minute now. Are you really that cold? Do you need another blanket or something?”

“That’d be nice,” you admit, tucking your feet under your butt to keep them warm. John scrambles to his feet and disappears, momentarily, into the hallway to the rest of the house. You snort at the heavy _thud_ ding of his footsteps. Bro and Jake will wake up soon, indeed.

He returns, arms laden with wool and crochet, and you promptly steal two of them. He keeps two for himself, frowning thoughtfully.

“Did Rose make this?” he says, tugging on a crocheted corner indicatively. You consider it.

“No? I think Rose or Ms.Lalonde actually got that from someone else and re-gifted it to us.”

“I never did get the point of crocheted blankets,” John tells you, swaddling himself in them anyway. “I mean, blankets are supposed to keep you warm, right, but there’s all these _holes_ in crochet for the cold air to get in and it all just seems kinda counterproductive.”

You snort again, then sniffle, groping blindly at the coffee table until you locate the tissue box. “Take it up with somebody else, dude, I don’t know anything about crocheting.”

John chuckles, leaning into your side. You don’t object because the guy is _warm_ , seriously, _so_ warm, it’s nuts, you would never believe this guy crawled into bed last night with a body temperature slightly higher than that of an icicle. Probably it’s just all the heat he leeched off of _you_ , and that’s why _you’re_ so cold now.

It’s a vicious cycle.

“How are you doing?” you ask, carefully, after a minute. John hums questioningly. “I mean-- shit, I don’t want to bring this up if you haven’t already thought about it, but also I’m pretty sure there’s no way you _haven’t_ thought about it so-- I just heard-- the holidays are the hardest. After. Y’know.”

John is quiet. You contemplate braining yourself with the tissue box, because you deserve it for being a complete fucking insensitive moron.

“It comes and goes,” he says, finally. “It’s just-- it’s kind of _weird_ , like one second I’ll just be thinking about how I’m doing Christmas with you guys this year, like _did I remember to wrap Rose’s present_ , _I wonder if my asshole roommate actually got me anything_ \--” you punch him lightly in the shoulder because you are basically required to, you’re pretty sure it’s in the teenage boy code somewhere, “Stupid stuff like that, right? But then out of nowhere I’ll think, Dad’s dead, Dad’s dead and I’m never going to get to spend another stupid Christmas with him ever again, Jade and I won’t get to pretend like we’re still little kids and jump on his bed to wake him up, he’s not going to help us make Christmas breakfast, we’re not going to get to try to sneak stupid little things into his stocking or deal with his dumb prank gifts or--”

He takes a deep, shuddery breath, and without thinking you wriggle one hand out of your blanket cocoon so you can grab his hand and squeeze it. He lets out a little hiccup, head dropping onto your shoulder.

“I keep _forgetting_ ,” he whimpers. “I almost started crying in the middle of class last week because-- because I looked at my homework for something and I didn’t get it and I thought, that’s okay, Dad will help me with it when I get home and then I realize that he _can’t_ because he’s _dead_ and it was like the police station all _over_ again.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumble.

“Dude, why are you apologizing,” John laughs, watery and _wrong_. “Every time you turn a damn corner, there’s new people around to remind you that you saw--”

“Can you _not_ ,” you blurt, panic lurching in your chest and constricting your throat. You desperately force yourself not to think about what you _saw_.

“Right, yeah, sorry,” John murmurs. There’s an awkward, tense moment between you before he swings his legs up onto the couch and settles with them splayed over yours, still leaning into your side. You squeeze his hand again, and he squeezes back this time, so hard it kind of hurts your fingers.

“When are the girls supposed to show up, anyway,” John grumbles, after a minute. You shrug, careful not to dislodge him.

“Whenever they feel like it, I guess.”

“Laaame,” he sighs. “It’s already, like, _eight_ , and it’s _Christmas morning._ ”

“Hey, man, I’m with you, but Bro has a _sword_ and major ass-kicking capabilities. So _I’m_ gonna wait until he feels like getting up on his own,” you say, solemnly. “Because, you know, I have a strict policy against getting my ass kicked before ten.”

John takes his head of his shoulder for the sole purpose of giving you a disbelieving look.

“Shut up,” you tell him, half-heartedly.

“I didn’t say a word,” John says, but as he settles back in, you can see his smug expression out of the corner of your eye.

This is how the girls find you twenty minutes later.

“This is adorable and you can’t stop me from taking a picture,” Roxy announces, whipping out her phone. John scoffs as you both yank the blankets over your faces before she can get a shot.

“I blame you,” John informs you, muffled through all the blankets, as you try to straighten yourselves out without giving anyone an opportunity to take pictures that actually have your faces in them.

“This is not my fault in _any_ way, are you _kidding_ me,” you complain. You almost end up with a mouthful of crochet for your troubles, but Rose saves you at the last second, careful disentangling you without letting cold air into your blanket-cocoon. “Thank you, I knew you were my favorite little sister for a reason.”

“Naturally,” Rose says, smirking. “And how _are_ you two doing this _fine_ Christmas morning?”

“Impatient,” John whines. “Somebody go wake up Jake and Dave’s bro, _please_ , seriously, come on. It’s nearly _eight thirty_.”

“I’m pretty sure there’s a universal law in which adults cannot be forced to participate in holiday activities any earlier than seven,” Jane muses, setting a bulging trash bag down next to the present pile. “So we’re not _that_ late. Or am I mistaken?”

“Not really,” you say. “But usually that just means that things are supposed to get started at _exactly_ seven. Rose, remember that Christmas--”

“Yes, with the foghorn. That was the year I broke my arm, wasn’t it?”

“Rose broke her arm?” Jade looks worried.

“It was like, eight years ago,” Roxy waves a hand dismissively. “And we were all in New York, and I’m pretty sure Dave sprained his ankle trying to--”

“It was a _minor_ sprain,” you interrupt, loudly.

“It’s okay,” Rose assures you. “I appreciated it.”

“There’s a story behind this and I seriously object to the way it’s being withheld,” John observes.

“Don’t sweat it,” Jane rolls her eyes. “I’ll tell you later, while they’re distracted.”

 

Eventually, _eventually_ , Roxy bravely marches into the bedroom, and five minutes later, an irritable Bro staggers into the living room, Jake on his heels, and you can finally get started on the stockings. It’s not like you have beautiful, handmade stockings that have been handed down through generations-- you don’t even have decent store-bought stockings, no, you have small, shitty stockings made with cheap red and white fleece by you and Rose, your first Christmas together. So the stockings don’t hold much more than multicolored post-it notepads and pens and little pieces of candy and chocolate. It’s the thought that counts, though, and also, _candy and chocolate_.

“Okay,” Jane acquiesces, when she has received the final stocking. “Present time-- _wait_ a minute--” Jade freezes where she’d begun launching herself off the couch. “We’ve got a lot of people this year, so why don’t we go one at a time, one person handing out all their presents for everyone else? _Yes_ , Jade, you can go first.”

“Socks,” you find yourself saying, deadpan, a minute later. “You got me socks. Thank you, Jade, this is exactly what I’ve always wanted, I think I’m going to cry.”

“Don’t you dare complain,” John says, viciously, “She got _me_ underwear.”

Everyone turns to look at the package of boxer briefs lying innocently in the mess of wrapping paper in his lap. Jade smirks.

“Underwear and socks are good,” Roxy says, nodding sagely and very obviously trying not to laugh. You scowl in response to her shit-eating grin. “Very practical.”

“Thank you, Jade,” Rose says, politely, but then, _she_ got a yarn coupon. Of course she’s alright with that. Hell, even the older Strider-Lalonde-and-significant-others got homemade _cards_ , at least. But no, not you and John. You get _socks and underwear._ “Who’s next?”

“We’ll go,” Jane says, elbowing Roxy. Roxy scowls but obligingly hauls herself off the couch to retrieve their gifts from the pile.

All the boys get sexy ladies’ underwear. The girls get boxers.

“Rox,” Bro groans, burying his face in his hands.

“They’re orange and everything, though,” Roxy laughs, waving the package at him. He swats it away. “C’mon, you love orange!”

“I swear this isn’t what we were supposed to give out,” Jane is telling Jake, helplessly, as he cracks up laughing. “I _swear_ , we had real presents, I don’t know what she did with them or how she swapped them out without my noticing--”

“Slippers,” you say, wisely. Jane narrows her eyes at you suspiciously. “What, don’t give me that look, I didn’t peek, remember that other time you got everyone slippers--”

“When we were thirteen--” Rose recalls.

“And you _said_ ,” Bro growls, into his hands. “‘Don’t worry about wearing them out, we’ll get you new ones in five years.’”

“I thought it was pretty clever,” Rose says, thoughtfully. “Not _too_ terribly unoriginal, but a solid plan that didn’t have to involve much forethought. A nice cycle, if you will. Slippers every five years. Is it my turn?”

Jade squeals when she’s presented with a knitted squiddle, and Bro makes approving noises when presented with a pair of fingerless gloves; John laughs in delight when he unwraps the book of pranks, saying something about not thinking it was coming out yet.

“Tell me pranks aren’t a _thing_ with him,” you beg Rose, without much hope. She just shakes her head at you sympathetically. You forgive her because she presents you with a sweet, amazingly warm red and white hoodie at the same time.

Jane and Roxy are presented with another unnerving wizard statuette.

“There are still wizard statues in the world that Roxy doesn’t already own?” Jake asks, impressed, as Roxy coos happily and Jane looks torn between amusement and horror. “I thought her goal was to own all of them before she hit twenty-one.”

“Alas,” Bro says, flexing his fingers in the new gloves and nodding approvingly. “That turned out to be a loftier goal than anticipated.”

“I’m sorry I don’t have anything for you,” Rose tells Jake, shrugging a little. “I prepared everything in advance, and I wasn’t expecting you. But I should have at least gotten a card, or something of the sort.”

Jake just shrugs.

“You’re up to bat,” he tells Bro. He nudges him off the couch. “Go on.”

Rose beams, just a little, when she pries the paper off of a book of advanced knitting projects, immediately beginning to flip through it, only pausing to make appropriately impressed noises when Jade shows off the huge stuffed puppy Bro hunted down for her at Jake’s suggestion.

“You’re going to make Bec jealous,” John snorts, tapping his fingers restlessly against his legs without anything to occupy him.

“Don’t worry, joint present, give it a minute,” you assure him, then completely fail to mask  the small of surprise that lurches out of your throat when you unwrap a _brand new camera, holy shit_. “Dude!”

“Take up photography again,” Bro suggests, smirking then outright laughing when you catch him by the sleeve and drag him down for a hug. “That’s also from Jake, by the way.”

“Holy shit, man,” you murmur, running your hands over the box reverently after you release him. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll definitely do that. Wow.”

“I wouldn’t have pinned you for a photography kind of guy,” John muses.

“Clearly you are not paying enough attention,” you inform him, gently setting your treasure on the floor so it’s less likely to get knocked around by all the people piled on the sofa.

Jane and Roxy receive books; Jane looks entirely unsurprised but pleased to receive yet another cookbook, Roxy makes interested noises at _101 Fun Virgin Drinks_.

“Going sober?” Rose asks, after a moment, leaning over to tap the cover.

“Oh,” Roxy blinks. “Yeah! I am. Did I forget to mention that? I thought I did. Dirk, didn’t I--”

“You told _me_ ,” Bro reminds her. “And said you were going to tell everyone else, then promptly forgot about it, I guess.”

“New Year’s resolution,” Roxy says, ruefully. “But I figure I should start while I’m feeling motivated, or whatever, so I don’t hit the New Year and end up on one of those endless cycles of _I’ll stop next week_ or whatever. Also, it’s probably kind of just a good idea.”

“Good for you, Rox,” Jake says, giving her a small, proud smile. She beams and bumps his fist.

Jake, to absolutely nobody’s surprise, receives new hiking boots.

“How many pairs of hiking boots do you even _own_ ,” you mutter. He just laughs at you and passes Bro a box that turns out to be a tool set, and Jane and Roxy squishy packages that are revealed to be festive pajamas.

You and Rose get envelopes-- yours is standard, Rose’s is a full manilla envelope. Rose opens hers first, peers inside, then immediately closes it again, a wicked smile crossing her face as she looks to Jake, who winks back.

You absolutely do not want to know. You open your own.

“This is an ad,” you say doubtfully, squinting at the slip of paper. It looks like it’s been cut out of the newspaper. “For a pet shop? Is it a coupon?”

“For _the Fishbowl?_ That’s where I dragged you to get more food for Mutie.” The cat in question briefly glances over from her spot sprawled in a fallen coat in front of the heating vent at the sound of her name. John leans over your shoulder. “Hey, no, it’s a _we’re hiring_ thingamawhat. Dude, you could work there!”

“At a pet store?” You give Jake a bewildered look.

“Dirk was talking about helping you find a job,” he explains. “And you’ve gotten on well with Rose’s cat, and not terribly with Becquerel, so I thought-- maybe you’d like to start out at a job that might involve interacting with more non-humans.”

“I’ll check it out,” you concede, but you definitely aren’t making any promises. Everyone looks at you expectantly. “Is it my turn? Okay, it’s my turn, can we-- Bro?”

Bro snags the big box under the tree and dumps it in John’s lap. “Joint present,” he says, briefly. “Me, Dave and Jake.”

John rips into the wrapping paper, then falters when the print on the box comes into view. “You _didn’t_ \--”

“A keyboard!” Jade crows, reaching over to shove the paper the rest of the way off. “It’s a keyboard! Oh my gosh, John.”

Rose gives you what is quite possibly the most approving, proud look you’ve ever gotten from her before. You shrug, awkwardly. It’s not like you were the only one involved in procuring it for him.

“We kept hearing that you like to play, and I know you have a _real_ piano at your house and we’ll totally keep it in storage for you and all but we just don’t have _room_ for it here, so--” you shrug again, trailing off, and shove another present at him instead. “Here, this one’s just from me, okay.”

It’s a book of classical music. John thumbs through it, an awed look on his face that you’re not sure you want to dwell on too long. Instead, you give out the rest of your gifts-- a book of lesser-known mythos for Rose, one on tropical fauna for Jake-- “pick out what you’ve seen on your expeditions so you can brag about it or whatever,” you tell him--, mix tapes for Jane and Roxy, and for Bro--

“I guess the new camera was a good call, then,” he says, gently paging through the thin album of some of your older photography that you cleaned up for him. “This is from--”

“The hikes in New York,” Rose agrees. “Over summer break.”

John looks up from his new music suddenly, realization dawning over his face. “Dude, every summer when you disappeared for two weeks--”

You laugh. Rose smirks. “I was spending quality time with my lovely family, yes.”

“I can’t _believe_ you never told anyone you have a brother,” Jade murmurs, glancing back at you and trying not to fidget too obviously.

“That’s just blatantly false,” you drawl, rescuing her gift from the pile. “She definitely told Maryam. There might have even been embarrassing stories involved.” You toss the present onto her lap. “There, from me and your bro, neither of us could figure out what the hell to get you so we teamed up.”

“Clearly we shouldn’t have even bothered,” John grumbles, giving the underwear a dirty look. Jade grins, slipping her new mittens on to paw at his face until she can drag him close enough to kiss his cheek while he tries to squirm away, protesting half-heartedly.

“You’re both so _sweet_ ,” she says, even as you surreptitiously scoot closer to Rose in case Jade tries to inflict affection on _you_ , too. She tugs on the hat and winds the scarf around her neck. “They’ve got kittens on them!”

“A _brilliant_ observation, really,” you mutter, then duck out of the way when Rose makes to whack you. “I mean, you’re welcome! You’re very welcome.”

“It’s my turn now, right?” John half-rises, glancing to Bro, who shrugs and nods. “Alright, here--”

All of the _adults_ (ha, _adults_ ) get cards; Rose carefully adds the gift card to a local craft store to her pile, with a quick, grateful smile, and you raise your eyebrows at the not one, but _two_ gifts on your lap.

“I feel so special.”

“I’ll _special_ your ass,” John laughs, kicking lightly at your shin. “Open them!”

You open the bigger one first, and Jane laughs when you lift the complete collection of Arthur Conan Doyle’s _Sherlock Holmes_ to show everyone. You have no idea where the asshole got it on such short notice. The second one is-- a CD?

“It’s, uh,” John grins, a little sheepishly, you think. “A few recordings. Of me playing. The piano! That’s why Jake and I were late, that one night, we stopped by my house so I could use the piano. I thought maybe you could use them for your mixtapes or whatever, you know, to try something different.”

“Thanks, man,” you tell him, sincerely, setting it carefully on top of the rest of your haul. There’s a moment of silence.

“Wow, huh, I guess that’s everything,” Roxy stretches, then flops across Jane’s lap. “Am I wrong? We’re all done? Yay, woohoo, good job everyone, thanks, good times.”

“I’ll bring the slippers by for you boys later,” Jane sighs, rubbing her temples.

 

Jane, Roxy, Bro and Jake all wander into the kitchen to eat more of the weird Christmas bread somebody produced at some point, and the rest of you make a strategic retreat back to you and John’s room. Everyone else promptly throws themselves onto your bed while you slip John’s CD into your laptop to start playing it.

“So who are we expecting to drop by today,” you say, crawling over the wrestling Egberts to sprawl over Rose’s legs. “Just so I can try to be prepared.”

“Kanae,” Rose offers.

“Kar’s coming!” John calls, breathlessly, right before Jade manages to shove him off the bed with a truly _magnificent_ crash. “Ow! Probably Resa, too. Maybe not Sol.”

“Kar’s relatives aren’t coming, though, are they?” Jade asks, cringing.

“Oh, _god_ ,” Rose mumbles, letting her head drop back against the pillows. “John. Say no. For the sake of my sanity and my brother’s relative innocence, say no.”

“No,” John says, dutifully. “Don’t worry, they aren’t. I think Kar actually pretends he doesn’t _have_ friends so they won’t try to meet any of us.”

“Hot damn,” you say. “Wait, I have no presents for any of these people.”

“That’s okay, I’m not sure any of them have presents for you, either.” John considers this. “Well. Maybe Resa? She seems pretty taken with you.”

“Whenever you’re not making John cry,” Jade adds, helpfully.

“That was _one time_ ,” John says, indignantly, right as you groan, “I’m _sorry!_ ” “Geez, Jade, like you weren’t sobbing all over the place every time anyone mentioned--”

“Everybody calm down,” Rose calls, authoritatively, and the rest of you settle back down, grumbling.

 

Kar and Resa show up just before lunch, laden with presents. One of them is even for you (it’s from Resa).

“A dragon-thing,” you say, intelligently, turning it over in your hand. “Jesus. Wait, it has shades, is this supposed to be _me?_ ”

“It’s a scalemate!” Jade laughs, waving her own green dragon-thing in your face. There’s a dragon-thing for everyone. “Thank you, Resa!”

“Thank you, Resa,” you echo, as Rose inspects the stitching. John is tearing into his present from Kar, and after a moment, he proudly holds out a huge, fluffy, circular yellow pillow with a smiley face on it.

“Thanks, man,” he says, grinning as he drags Kar down for the most reluctant hug you’ve ever witnessed between two people who aren’t related. “Hey, hold on, I’ve got-- here.”

It’s a book on programming.

“Thanks,” Kar says, a small smile gracing his face. He lobs a present at Resa’s head-- you catch it for her, because she is _blind_ , and she cackles with delight over what turns out to be a box of chalk. For Jade, he’s gotten one of those cutesy frog-head pillows.

“There is not enough room in my bed for all these pillows and shit,” you say, remorsefully, as you stop Jade’s stuffed puppy from tumbling over the edge only for Mutie to knock it down anyway a second later. “Bad cat.”

Resa hands Kar an envelope; he inspects the contents briefly, then announces, “I hate you,” and when you look to John he just shrugs.

“What’d you get Naem and Sol?” he asks, curiously.

“New tea set for Naem,” Kar grumbles, shoving his hands-- and the envelope-- into his pockets. “From that new shop at the strip mall. You know, the one she fawns over all the time.”

“Nice choice.”

“Resa made her a scalemate,” he adds, dryly, jerking his head in Resa’s direction. She gives everyone one of her mildly terrifying crocodile grins.

“I got Sol a book on bee-keeping,” she sing-songs. “Kar, at Kanae’s suggestion, made him a stuffed bee.”

“Dude,” John says, and if he’s trying not to laugh he’s failing _so hard_.

“It was at least _intentionally_ shitty,” Kar says, defensively, and oh god is he _blushing?_ Are he and Sol some kind of _thing?_ This is at least 150% more than you ever really wanted to know about John’s friends, at this point in your acquaintance.

Resa waves a hand at him dismissively. “He got me a book of court cases, got Kar some boring volume of history or whatever. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go spend quality bonding time with my family for the holidays.”

She absconds.

For a blind girl, she’s pretty goddamn fast.

“Kar?” John asks, making hopeful eyes at him.

“I’m free,” he admits, after a pause, eyes flickering to you. “Can I stay? Is that alright with the Striders?”

“I’m cool with it,” you shrug. “I mean, the xBox is broken so I dunno what we’re gonna do, but--”

“Wait wait wait,” John crows, scrambling off then under the bed. After an awkward moment of swearing and squirming, he hefts a large box. “Voila!”

Kar squints. “Your wii?”

“With Mariokart,” John says, proudly. “ _And_ the steering wheels for the controllers.”

“Have you just been hiding those under my bed for three weeks?” you demand, peering through the plastic sides of the box to the assorted games. “We could have been having important bro bonding time over shitty nintendo games, man, what’s wrong with you?”

John smiles sheepishly. “Well-- after the thing at Kar’s, I wasn’t sure--”

Fair enough.

Kanae arrives about thirty seconds later, and you, John and Kar beat a hasty retreat so the girls can sort out whatever the hell they need to.

“Just so we’re on the same page--” John starts, as the three of you waste your best and most creative cursing on his entertainment system.

“John,” you say, evenly, as you _finally_ figure out where the goddamn cord in your hand is supposed to plug in. “If you force that conversation on us, I’m going to have to think about what my _sister_ might be doing-- _on my bed_ \-- so I’d really just prefer it if maybe you’d shut the fuck up.”

“Hear, hear,” Kar mutters. He pauses. “Wait. Jade’s still in there.”

“Oh my god,” John says, face flushing rapidly.

“ _Shut the fuck up_ ,” you repeat, and then you wave controllers at them threateningly until they accept under fear of violence, and as soon as you get the system working you turn the volume up as loud as you can stand and try very, very hard not to think about anything but mindless cartoon violence.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: lots of discussion of minor character death in this chapter!
> 
> In a twist nobody saw coming, Choc is amazing at churning out fanfiction when there's lots of homework and research to be done. Who'da thunk.

Rose swears up and down they don’t get any further than making out, that first afternoon.

You change the sheets anyway. Hey, better safe than sorry.

 

After Christmas, you all settle down a little. It’s nice, really. You’ve gotten past the funeral, and John and Jade and Rose are no longer trying to keep up with their classes on top of grieving and reorienting themselves to new homes. You can take your time, for the rest of break; wrap up Ms.Lalonde and Mr.Egbert’s affairs at a less stressful rate, take breaks when their kids can’t handle it anymore.

On Boxing Day, you pack up your turntables-- it’s not like you use them very often, anymore, except when you’re making mixtapes for special occasions ( _ie Christmas, birthdays_ ), so under the bed they go, and in their place you help John set up his new keyboard. Unfortunately, most of his music is still at his house, so.

Well. You needed to start cleaning up the estates anyway.

Bro and Roxy, when they aren’t working, are busy with the legal processes; Jane and Jake _also_ have work; Jade and Rose are almost always off with Kanae (but at their _own_ house, or Kanae’s, thank the merciful heavens)... In short, you and John are the only ones from your families cleaning, most days.

But that doesn’t mean it’s just the two of you working. Kar stops by a lot, actually, helping John sort through things, lending a hand with the heavy lifting, occasionally bringing some food. He brings all of his family’s empty cardboard boxes, and the two of you fill them with all the books you can find while John sorts through his music, quiet and sad, and packs away Jade’s flute and guitar.

“Jade’s,” Kar murmurs, the first time you see them and bestow them with a confused look. “She’s not bad at guitar, but she _sucks_ at playing the flute, seriously, run for the hills if she takes it out.”

He seems wise in the ways of the Egberts, so you’ll take his word for it.

If Kar is there, invariably, Naemi shows up at some point over the course of the afternoon with tea in travel mugs, which everyone secretly appreciates even if Kar complains a lot. Resa drops by every once in a while to mock everyone, leave inspiring but kind of awful doodles on random surfaces, then disappear before she can be conned into helping. Some days, Sol comes, too-- mostly he helps with the heavy lifting and banters with John and Kar for usually around thirty minutes, then leaves again.

You keep your camera with you, most days. You take a lot of pictures. You’re not sure what you’re going to do with them-- who the hell cares about a collection of photos taken while cleaning up the estate left to some kid after his dad dies?-- but you still feel like maybe you should be documenting this.

Who knows? Maybe it’ll soften the blow, somehow, if you _can_ find a way to make them into art, in the end.

 

New Year’s Eve arrives, and you have plans. Plans that involve attending the Vantas-Leijon’s party.

You want to say you have no idea how that happened, but you _do_ knowhow that happened. It’s John. John is how it happened.

“You don’t understand, Dave,” John insists. “Kar’s finally gonna make a move on Sol, we have to be there, he needs the moral support.”

“What I don’t understand is why the hell everyone insists on hooking up on freaking holidays,” you mutter, watching the winter air turn your breath to little clouds every time you exhale. _Winter_. Ugh. You’re used to walking everywhere, goddammit, you don’t have a problem with stretching your legs a little on your way to point B from point A, but in Texas it was never _fucking zero degrees fahrenheit._ “Do they _want_ to be just another cliché?”

John grins. “How does that saying go-- _they’re clichés for a reason_ , or whatever. Also, you have to admit the whole midnight kisses thing is pretty--”

“Stupid?” you offer. John laughs and swats at you. “Okay, fine, Kar wants stupid midnight kisses and he needs you for moral support. What the fuck am _I_ doing here?”

“You’re moral support, too,” John informs you.

“Vantas barely tolerates me, he doesn’t want my support.”

“What, no, Kar _likes_ you! You just got off on the wrong foot, that’s all, he has now seen the error of his ways and you’re totally friends. Or almost-friends.”

You grunt.

“Dave,” John hesitates. “Come on. I know you hate crowds, but-- but it won’t be that bad, really, it’ll be mostly adults catching up about work and stuff, there’s not going to be strobe lights and bad pop music and stuff. It’ll probably be more tame than Rose’s birthday party, even.”

“There were only five other people in Kar’s room the last time I was here,” you remind him, leaving out the implied _and had a fucking panic attack_.

“There were twelve people at our house when we explained what happened with-- Dad,” John counters, carefully. “And you did okay.”

“Only because Kar was yelling at them to shut up every two minutes.”

Nobody but Rose tried to touch you, either, which helped. The point remains.

“We can leave right after midnight,” John wheedles. “ _Daaave_...”

“God, fine,” you groan, hunching your shoulders against the cold as you come up on the Vantas-Leijon house. If nothing else, it promises some goddamn _warmth_.

 

It is _loud_ and there’s _so many fucking people_ and your head is throbbing and-- it’s eleven fifty-nine and you can’t find John, where the fuck _is_ he? Fuck him, he was _wrong_ , there is _horrible_ pop music and it’s playing so loudly the walls are vibrating with it.

“Minute to go!” somebody, somewhere shrieks, and everyone whoops and hollers and then somebody-- probably a tipsy somebody, the air is tinged faintly with alcohol and it’s making you nauseated on top of everything else-- but somebody steps back without looking and collides with you, full force, and your breath starts coming more quickly and you are _so fucking done_ , jesus, you need to get _out_ of here and--

Somebody grabs your elbow and you instinctively try to jerk away, but the grip only tightens and they push and shove you through the crowd until suddenly, the front door is in front of you and you’re scrambling with the knob so you can flee into the blessed (albeit freezing) outdoors.

You’ve just slumped down on the steps leading up to the porch, hugging your own ribcage and sucking in huge breaths of frigid air, when you hear the door shut behind you on the sounds of the twenty-second-countdown.

“Hey,” Kar says, voice barely audible. He sits down on the steps, too, but a careful distance away from you, the brilliant asshole. He doesn’t try to start a conversation, even when you hear the muffled shouts of _three-- two-- one-- HAPPY NEW YEAR!_

You hug yourself more tightly and close your eyes. Deep breaths. You can do this.

You stay like that for a while, the minutes stretching on; it’s not _quiet_ outside, you can hear the party and the laughter and the music, but it’s much quiet _er_. You feel like you can _breathe_ again, and you truly appreciate Kar’s almost-friendship from the bottom of your soul.

“Thanks, man,” you murmur, when you no longer feel like any voice, even your own, will make you want to claw your skin off. “That was... thanks.”

“Yeah,” Kar shrugs one shoulder. He tilts his head back to stare up at the stars. “I get it. I mean, it’s not like _that_ for me-- I don’t have your... panic... episode... things, sorry, that came out more asshole-y than intended. But my point is, yeah. People. Lots of people. Lots of _loud_ people. Sometimes you just want to punch them in the face and run away.”

You nod.

“We can stay out here for a while, though,” he sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Not like anyone will miss us, aside from maybe John and Resa.”

“Resa kind of scares me,” you admit, after a pause, and Kar barks out a laugh.

“Only _kind_ of?”

Another pause, and then--

“John told me about your plan,” you blurt, arms still tight around yourself. Kar whips around to stare you down. You don’t meet his eyes. “Sorry I fucked it up for you.”

He relaxes, a little. “Not your fucking fault, Strider. You didn’t _make_ me drag you out here.”

You shrug.

“It was a shitty plan anyway,” he mumbles, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. “Wouldn’t have worked. Probably would’ve just made everything awkward.”

“I dunno, dude,” you say. “I mean-- shit, obviously I don’t know you guys that well, but John and the girls seemed pretty convinced it was gonna work out.”

“John’s a hopeless doofus,” ah, yes, something you can _definitely_ agree with, “And your girls just got into a polyamorous lesbian relationship and they’re still in the honeymoon phase, they’re probably convinced _everyone_ is destined to find true love right now.”

“Please,” you groan, letting your head sink back between your knees. “Please, please, for the love of god, do _not_ mention my sister’s relationship, oh, jesus.”

Kar reaches over and pats your shoulder. You appreciate the show of solidarity.

“How’s John doing?” he asks, after a moment. “He alright, when you’re not cleaning house?”

“He doesn’t seem like he’s falling apart at the seams,” you say, doubtfully. “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not. I don’t really know jack shit about the mourning process, to be honest.”

Kar smiles, small and tired. “It’s different for everyone and all that.”

“Been through it yourself?” you venture, cautiously, not quite certain you’re to the _twenty questions, A-OK_ part of your almost-friendship yet. It’s a pretty sensitive topic either way.

He nods absentmindedly. “My mom. Car accident. I was ten.” He laughs wearily. “Of course, I didn’t have to look after a sister and pack up my childhood house and all that good shit.”

“Still sucks, man,” you murmur. Your curiosity gets the better of you, though, and you add, “Ms.Leijon and Naemi, then--”

“Stepmom and sister,” Kar confirms. He looks down at his shoes. “Dad married Diane when I was fourteen. I started high school the week after the wedding.”

You both contemplate this in silence.

“I almost told him I wouldn’t go,” Kar mumbles. “Dad, I mean, and to the wedding. I was still getting up every morning and remembering halfway through making my own lunch for school that Mom used to make it for me, and he was fucking _remarrying_.”

“But you went?”

“I went,” he confirms, shaking his head. “I hated every stupid fucking minute of it and I wouldn’t-- I didn’t talk to him until the end of the first week of school, I actually stuffed a duffel bag full of clothes and stayed at Sol’s until I was done being a bitter asshole. And he was _still_ happy I’d just _shown up_.”

You don’t know what to say to that.

“Diane’s okay,” he concludes, finally. “And Naemi-- she’s okay, too, I guess, I barely remember she’s my _step-_ sister most of the time. She’s just Naemi. Dad says it’s easier when it doesn’t seem like they’re replacing the person you lost and all that.”

“Yeah,” you say, finally letting your hands slip down from their grip on your ribcage to tuck them in your pockets-- you’ve been out here for a while now, and oh right, it’s _winter in Washington_. In other words, fucking _cold_. “My Bro said that, too.”

Kar gives you a questioning look.

“Our mom,” you admit. You look down at your boots, scuffing them on the edge of the stair they’re perched on. “I was a baby, I don’t remember her-- hell, I don’t even remember the sort-of-replacement situation. But after she died we were supposed to go live with our half-sister and her mother and Bro apparently fought with her mother a lot.”

“What happened to the mother?” Kar asks, quietly.

“Same guy who killed our mother got her, too.” You stare out at the street, but you don’t really see it. “Police hadn’t gotten him yet. We went into foster care after that. Stayed with the same family until Bro got old enough to take custody.”

Kar is silent.

“I didn’t even know any of that until I was thirteen,” you admit. “Didn’t give a shit until I was sixteen and--” you falter. “The guy got out of prison.”

“Ms.Lalonde,” Kar murmurs.

“Yeah,” you mumble, scrubbing at your face with one cold, cold hand. “Ms.Lalonde. John’s dad, Mr.Egbert-- it’s such a shitty thing to say, but it was a coincidence. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Kar makes a noise of understanding.

“The guy,” he adds, after a moment. “Who killed all of them... He was after your family?”

You give him a questioning look.

“Common factor,” he says, shortly, mist-breath curling up and away like the night air is stealing his words as they leave his mouth. “Your mother-- your half-sister’s mother-- Rose’s mother...”

You nod, slowly. “...He wanted their children. Mothers react badly to homicidal psychopaths trying to take their kids and all that.”

“So he,” Kar lets it trail off.

He very considerately doesn’t ask _why_ the killer wanted you.

“He was our father,” you blurt anyway.

“Jesus christ,” Kar groans, burying his face in his hands. “Wow. I think I just lost the _Our Lives Suck_ competition.”

“It’s okay,” you say, forcing a lighter note into your voice. “We can both have sucky lives.”

The door opens and shuts behind you with a short burst of more bad pop music.

“What the hell are you two doing out here?” John demands, shivering already. “It’s fucking _freezing_.”

“We were bonding over how much our lives suck,” you tell him. Kar snorts, standing and stretching.

“We could write some sort of shitty tragedy-and-recovery story based on our lives,” he muses, frowning as the cold apparently finally registers with him. “It’d be a hit with the teenage masses.”

“I suck at writing,” you warn him.

“So does Kar,” John sighs, as you let him haul you to your feet. “You know what, Dave, if you get sick again I’m _not_ nursing you back to health this time. Kar, you missed the countdown, Sol is heartbroken.”

Kar makes a face at him.

“For god’s sake, just go over to his house or something and get it over with _tomorrow_ , you’re kissing him out of the blue whether you have a shitty New Year’s excuse or not.”

“You’re full of wisdom and shit, Strider,” Kar informs you, but he’s smiling a little even as his teeth begin to chatter, and he doesn’t sound like he means it at all. Holy shit did you cross the line from almost-friends to actual friends tonight?

And all it took was a super fucking depressing conversation about your families dying.

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sol and Kar BECOME A THING, HOT DAMN.  
> (And Choc still does not write about the actual process of becoming a couple)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok feel free to start reading but I NEED A MINUTE TO SORT OUT THE CODING ON THE PESTERLOGS WHOOPS....  
> Edit: okay the pesterlogs should be good now!! please let me know if a line ended up formatted incorrectly.  
> as always, I would really love to hear feedback on this!

On the Thursday after New Years, Roxy comes into your house wet and crying.

“ _Dude_ ,” John hisses, as you both lurk in the corners of the room while Bro tries to coax actual words out of Roxy. “ _Dude!_ ”

“Dude,” you agree, in a slightly higher pitch than you would like to admit to, but whatever, it’s a moment of distress. “Uh. Should we.”

“Go,” Bro says, without looking. “Take your phone, I’ll keep you updated, just-- out. Go to John’s friend’s house or something, I don’t really give a shit.”

You grab your coats and scramble for the door.

 

“Let us in,” John says, the moment Kar opens the door, “There’s a crying girl in our house and we got kicked out.”

“Did _you_ make the girl cry?” Kar asks, long-sufferingly, but he moves out of the way obligingly so you and John can dart into the foyer and out of the rain.

“No,” you say, trying to kick your boots off in the general direction of the boot tray. “She was already crying when she got there.”

“It wasn’t even _manageable_ crying, Kar,” John despairs. “It was the crying of the _recently dumped_ , it was _hysterical_ and _awful_.”

“I hope Jade had other, more sympathetic listeners than you through her romantic career,” Kar snorts, taking your coats and tossing them over hooks on the wall. “... It wasn’t Jade, was it?”

“I would have stayed, for Jade,” John says, solemnly. “Even for recently-dumped crying. It was Dave’s sister.”

“Rose?”

“No!”

“Roxy,” you mumble, shuffling after Kar when he leads you through the living room and up the stairs to his room.

“You think she and Jane broke up?” John asks, quietly.

“I hope not,” you say, staring into space as Kar forces you both to settle down in the gaming corner on the pillows while he goes in hunt of towels. “They’ve been together for like... eleven years, dude, I was _seven_ when they started dating. I barely fucking _remember_ a time before Jane-and-Roxy was a unit, instead of separate people.”

“Joint gifts at Christmas time,” John recalls.

“They’re really fucking serious,” you slump down against the cushions. Kar can yell at you for getting rainwater on them all he wants. “Was starting to think one of them was gonna propose soon. The whole shebang.”

“Damn,” John says, flopping down next to you. “But-- I’m sorry, man, but I have a sister and that was definitely the crying of the recently dumped, or at least the crying of someone who’s had a _bad_ fight with their significant other.”

“I know,” you say.

Kar throws towels at your faces before you can soak in secondhand misery for too much longer.

“Video games,” he says. “Now. My room is a relationship-discussion-free zone, _okay?_ You want to talk about feelings, you go into Naemi’s room, because I will not put up with this shit.”

“Yes, _sir_ ,” John says, cheekily, and naturally Kar has to wrestle him for his insolence, and by the time you actually get around to starting up the console, you’ve almost forgotten about the whole mess with Roxy.

 

tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

TT: Dave.

TG: rose

TT: Tell me where you are.

TG: why

TG: are you going to come over

TG: dude im involved in some serious bro bonding time over here im not sure girls are allowed

TT: If I have to stay in the same house as Jane for much longer, I’m going to do something terribly rash and stupid that everyone will regret.

TG: wait so yasd.gakshgODIGHSDJG

TT: Dave?

TG: A:LKGSHGLH SKAEWT

TG: ROSE, THIS IS KAR.

TT: Ah.

TG: WE’RE AT MY HOUSE.

TG: IF YOU REALLY THINK YOU’RE IN DANGER OF KILLING SOMEONE, YOU CAN COME OVER.

TT: Thank you, Kar.

TG: YOU’RE WELCOME.

TG: JUST REMEMBER THE RULE ABOUT MY ROOM.

TT: Yes, of course.

TT: I will endeavor to leave all of my feelings at the door.

TT: Are you certain I qualify as enough of a “bro” to join in on your bonding?

TG: rose dont be fucking stupid

TG: i was bullshitting you with the no girls allowed thing earlier

TG: you are the broest of bros

TG: i could not ask for a better goddamn bro

TG: except maybe bro himself but idk i think he might be disqualified on account of actually being my bro

TG: w/e you get the point get your ass over here

TG: youre missing out on all the rad virtual violence

turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT]

 

And that’s how you end up spending the afternoon curled up in Kar’s room shooting things with your sister half on your lap, John leaning into your shoulder and Kar leaning into him.

You could definitely spend more time socializing if it was always like this.

 

timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

TT: Hurtful words were said.

TG: kinda got that far already all by myself

TG: im a regular goddamned sherlock holmes

TT: Shut up, kid.

TG: what was the fight even about

TT: Roxy can’t remember. Something stupid. Trivial, even.

TT: It got blown out of proportion.

TG: and

TG: what did jane say that sent roxy running into your arms crying her little heart out

TT: Something along the lines of, “I liked you better when you were drunk.”

TG: holy fucking shit

TT: Yeah.

TG: no wonder rox was upset

TG: the whole sobriety shtick means a lot to her right

TT: It does.

TT: We don’t know Jane’s side of the story, though, so I’m trying not to get too mad.

TT: I shouldn’t side against her without trying to understand how she saw it.

TG: the drinking thing is still kinda a low blow though

TT: I know.

TT: Dammit.

TT: Jake and Jade are over there for now. Roxy’s still here.

TT: I think she’s planning on sleeping in your bed tonight, if we’ll let her,

TT: Since it doesn’t seem like they’re about to make up within the next 24 hours.

TT: You got someplace you can spend the night, little dude?

TG: not so little anymore

TG: im a legal adult now motherfucker

TG: i can vote and everything

TT: God help us all.

TG: fuck you

TG: but hold on a sec

TG: k vantas is cool with john and i crashing at his place

TG: rose says she can go over to maryams house

TT: Alright.

TT: Be safe. Don’t do anything stupid.

TG: wtf am i even going to do at kars house

TG: his sister is only a sophomore yo

TG: do you really think i would corrupt the younger generation

TG: really

TG: im offended

TT: No drugs.

TT: Or sex.

TG: what the shit bro

TT: Fine, but you have to use protection.

TG: im not going to have sex with kar and john you asshole

TG: you know what

TG: fuck this noise

turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT]

 

You wake up in the morning because somebody is jabbing their finger into your stomach; you make a very manly whining noise and roll away from the assault, curling in on yourself defensively.

“ _Strider_ ,” Kar hisses.

“‘M awake,” you grumble. “L’me alone.”

“No, asshole, my cousins are home, we need to evacuate. Where are your shades?”

You open your eyes enough to squint up at him, blearily. “Coat p’cket. Why do I need ‘em?”

“Because I don’t want Kris to see your eyes and decide he needs to go on a fucking social justice diatribe about genetic mutations and bullying before we can escape,” Kar growls. You blink, brain not quite completely online yet, but he’s already gone-- presumably downstairs, grabbing your shades.

“See,” John slurs, from a few feet away, face still mostly buried in a pillow. “Told y’so.”

“Told me _what_ ,” you grumble. You sit up slowly, with the dull ache behind your eyes that you recognize from experience as the hurt of a person who finally fell asleep at ass o’ clock the night prior. At least this time it’s because you were bonding with friends instead of writing a goddamn paper or something.

“Kar doesn’ care ‘bout y’r eyes,” John mumbles, stretching luxuriously within his blanket cocoon. “‘Cept when other people ‘re givin’ you shit ‘bout ‘em. S’okay when y’don’t wear th’ shades, ‘least around ‘r friends.”

“Figured that out, douchebag,” you tell him. John does a slow, lazy clap from the floor, and you valiantly resist the urge to kick him. You don’t even need to be _having_ this discussion. You _told_ him your New Year’s resolution was to only wear your shades outdoors.

You stagger to your feet and begin searching the room for your pants. It should not be this hard to find your goddamn pants, Kar’s room isn’t even that dirty. Next time there’s a possibility you might get kicked out of your house for the night you’re bringing an overnight bag so you can wear actual pajamas instead of just kicking off your pants and sleeping in your boxers, it is way too cold to be sleeping in just boxers.

Kar reappears with your shades, just then, immediately locates your pants, and throws both objects at you. “ _Hurry_ ,” he mutters, grabbing a bag off the floor and shouldering it. “C’mon, Egbert, get your ass in gear, Naem can only keep them distracted for so long.”

“Where are we going?” you hiss, glancing out the window. “It’s still raining, we can’t just run around town, I don’t actually fucking _want_ to get sick again.”

“Sol’s house,” John informs you, finding his pants with no trouble at all. He seizes a couple of games from Kar’s pile and throws them into Kar’s bag.  “Come on, if we’re doing this let’s just _do_ it, go go _go_.”

You slip out of Kar’s room single-file, cringing every time a stair creaks, until you’ve made it to the foyer, jammed your feet into boots and your arms into coat-sleeves, and fled into the rain.

“My breath is coming out in clouds,” you say, mournfully. “How is it _raining_.”

“Welcome to Washington,” John mutters, and Kar barks out a laugh.

“When is somebody going to explain to me _why_ we’re so desperate not to have to interact with Kar’s cousins?”

“Ask Kar,” John says, shrugging and jamming his hands into his pockets. “I haven’t spoken to them that much-- I know they’re kind of assholes, but I hadn’t realized they were bad enough for as much sneaking out of the house as they apparently involve.”

“They suck,” Kar huffs. “Well, Kris sucks. Picture the embodiment of every holier-than-thou social justice blogger anyone’s ever hated.”

You make a face.

“Yeah,” Kar agrees. He wipes some rain off his brow. “May-Lin doesn’t make me want to stab her as often just because she’s _her_. She’s just kind of a lot to handle, and she’s deaf but she still speaks so she’s really fucking _loud_. It _hurts your ears_ to listen to her, I’m not just making shit up.”

“They’re in college right now,” John tells you. “They’re like... five years older than us? Maybe?”

“Who the fuck even knows,” Kar mutters. He makes a sharp turn onto somebody’s front walkway, and before you know it you’re following him up onto the porch as he bangs at the front door. “ _Captor!_ ”

“Good morning to you, too, sunshine,” Sol starts to say, as he opens the door, then raises his eyebrows as he glances past Kar to find you and John. “Sun _shines_. So should I let you in or should I make you wait out here in the rain while you explain the surprise group visit?”

“Let us in please,” John whines, jostling past you to duck around Sol, into the house, without waiting for an answer. Sol rolls his eyes and steps aside so you and Kar can come in before shutting the door solidly behind you.

“So _,_ ” he says.

“So what,” Kar mumbles, yanking his boots off his feet with probably a little more vicious energy than is strictly necessary.

It’s John who volunteers, “Dave and I got kicked out so his older siblings could work through their relationship problems.”

“That is not what happened,” you groan, but scrunch your nose defeatedly when he gives you a look that clearly invites _you_ to explain it.

“Anyway,” John continues. “We were hanging out with Kar but then his cousins showed up so we had to run away, so here we are.”

“I’m flattered that you came to me in your time of great need,” Sol drawls, ducking and laughing when Kar makes to punch him. “Jesus, you’re dripping all over the place, Kar, didn’t anyone ever tell you about umbrellas? They’re these things people use when it rains, so they don’t get wet. They’re pretty great.”

“I hate you,” Kar informs him, but there’s, like, zero heat behind it.

“I love you too, sweetcheeks,” Sol rolls his eyes again. “Come in, go get my couch all wet or whatever, get a game started while I find you idiots some towels.”

“Thank you,” John yells after him, as he disappears into the bowels of the house. “Kar, goddammit, you can show up at his door at seven in the morning dripping wet with friends and he just lets you inside and goes to find you _towels_. What are you even _waiting_ for?”

“I let _you_ inside and found you towels when you showed up at my door dripping wet with a friend,” Kar points out, through gritted teeth. “That doesn’t mean _anything_. Also, shut the fuck up, do you not know how to _whisper_ , he’s right through _there_ , we’re in _his house!_ ”

“I liked Kar’s room with the no-feelings zone better,” you mutter, trodding past them to throw yourself onto Sol’s couch. “God, wow, okay, this is an amazing couch, I’m just going to sleep here forever, Egbert, you answer for me if Rose texts.”

“You let us in in the middle of the afternoon,” John insists, ignoring you. “Completely different. He could be _sleeping in_ right now and instead--”

“Strider, you do _not_ get to go to sleep and make me deal with your roommate alone,” Kar warns you.

“Dude, the fuck did you do before I moved to town?”

“Rose,” Kar says, like that explains everything, and yeah, it kind of does. You can see John maybe heeding Rose’s patented _shut the fuck up, do you even hear the stupidity you’re spouting?_ look every once in a while.

Fortunately, Sol returns to the room before John can continue a conversation only he ever wanted to have, and then proceeds to kick all your asses in every game you try.

You don’t miss the smug glint in his eyes every time he glances Kar’s way, though.

Suspicious.

 _Very_ suspicious.

Oh god what are you thinking you don’t want to have _any_ thoughts about _anyone’s_ relationships, setting up Bro and Jake was enough relationship assistance for a lifetime, you are done. No more.

 

Which is why, of course, you have the following conversation that evening:

 

carcinoGeneticist [CG] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

CG: I HATE EVERYTHING.

CG: BUT MOSTLY SOL.

TG: first of all hold the fucking bus who told you i was the right person to complain about relationships to

TG: i cannot emphasize enough how much i do not want to know ok

TG: roses hookup inspired something in me

TG: that something was the realization that i never want to know what anyone does in the bedroom

TG: especially not people i interact with on a semi regular basis

TG: second how did you even get my handle

CG: JOHN GAVE IT TO ME.

TG: of course he did

CG: LOOK, IF YOU OBJECT TO IT THAT MUCH, I CAN JUST SHUT UP AND LEAVE YOU ALONE.

TG: nah

TG: this is like

TG: proof of our friendship or whatever isnt it

TG: that youre willing to rant about the mishaps of your romantic life to me

TG: wow i just thought that over in my head a couple times and it sounds incredibly fucking stupid but anyway

TG: who am i to ignore a friend in need

TG: have at it

TG: tell me all your sorrows

TG: so i can make appropriately empathetic comments and then we can both pretend this conversation never happened

CG: WE’RE A THING NOW.

TG: what

CG: SOL AND I.

CG: WE’RE TOGETHER.

CG: BOYFRIENDS, I THINK.

TG: dude

TG: congratulations

TG: how is that a problem

CG: BECAUSE HE’S AN ASSHOLE, THAT’S WHY.

TG: im pretty sure everyone knew this from the start

TG: kinda late to complain now

CG: YEAH, BUT EVEN MORE SO THAN PREVIOUSLY THOUGHT.

CG: HE KNEW THE ENTIRE TIME.

TG: he knew what

TG: that you had some kind of massive crush on him

CG: DO NOT MAKE ME SOUND LIKE AN INSIPID TEENAGED GIRL.

TG: im pretty sure thats sexist

CG: SHUT THE FUCK UP, STRIDER.

TG: what its true

TG: vantas if you wanted someone who was actually going to be a good bro about this you maybe should have pestered john

TG: or one of the girls

TG: actually no the girls are probably making out right now

CG: HE KNEW I LIKED HIM, THE ENTIRE GODDAMNED TIME, AND HE NEVER SAID ANYTHING.

CG: HE WAS “WAITING FOR ME TO GROW SOME BALLS”, APPARENTLY.

TG: so did you or did he figure it was never happening and decide he would grudgingly take you sans balls

TG: dont give me the chat-client silent treatment you should have known what you were getting yourself into when you started this conversation

TG: im pretty sure were bros now and all

TG: dont get me wrong

TG: but being bros is not enough for me to want to know about your romantic shenanigans

CG: THE SAD PART IS THAT THIS IS STILL BETTER THAN THE CONVERSATION I WOULD HAVE HAD WITH JOHN.

TG: wow really

TG: how would that have gone

CG: WITH A LOT OF “I TOLD YOU SO”S, MOSTLY.

TG: yeah i can see that

TG: anyway

TG: here ill make a shot at being a good friend about this whole ordeal and give you advice hows that

TG: personally i dont think you have jack shit to complain about

TG: youve got your boyfriend and apparently he likes you enough that he waited however long for you to get your head out of your ass

TG: probably not even in a romantic way

TG: like i bet you were eating lunch or something and he was like “this taco is delicious” and you just went “i like your stupid face” and then you tried to eat it

TG: his face that is

CG: YOU ARE THE WORST.

TG: am i bad enough to discourage you from seeking romantic advice from me ever again

CG: MAYBE.

CG: BUT MAYBE I’LL ALSO TELL EVERYONE ELSE YOUR ADVICE IS PRETTY DECENT, SO YOU’LL STILL HAVE TO DEAL WITH THE HARASSMENT AS KARMA EVEN THOUGH I WON’T HAVE TO PUT UP WITH YOU.

TG: thats almost devious

TG: dont worry though

TG: i grew up with rose

TG: i know all kinds of shit about ongoing wars in passive-aggression

TG: so bring it on motherfucker

turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG]

 

turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB]

TG: dude

EB: dude?

TG: vantas+captor

TG: coming soon to a theater near you

EB: wait holy shit seriously??

EB: and he told you before me????

EB: KAAAAAARSOOOOOOON!!!

ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

 

carcinoGeneticist [CG] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

CG: YOU COMPLETE ASSHOLE.

TG: i told you dog

TG: i warned you about the passive aggression bro

turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG]


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA 7/8/2015: trigger warning for brief mention of minor character death.

“So I was thinking,” John starts.

“Oh my god,” you say, dropping the pan you were scrubbing. The water it displaces sloshes unnervingly close to the edge of the sink. “Quick, somebody call the press, this is an unprecedented--”

John punches you in the gut, and, while you’re busy pretending to wheeze, continues stubbornly, “I was _thinking_ and it occurred to me that you’re just going to be sitting around doing nothing all day, again, when we go back to school tomorrow.”

You grimace awkwardly. You’ve gotten used to John’s constant presence, over break. Nothing you haven’t done before, though-- you used to spend weeks at a time with the ladies in New York and then go back to Houston to spend most of the day alone in the apartment.

“It’s cool,” you tell him. You rescue the pan you dropped and inspect it-- it appears to have been mostly clean anyway. You rinse the suds off. “I’ve got schoolwork and shit to keep me busy. And keeping house. And stuff.”

“No, that’s boring,” John huffs, nudging you playfully.

“Your face is boring,” you gripe, shoving him back. “Besides, like you’re one to talk, how much _variation_ and _fun_ and _excitement_ do you get at your _public high school?_ ”

“ _So much_ fun and excitement, Dave,” John says, solemnly. His lips tremble around the grin he’s trying to hide. “Every day is a new adventure.”

You roll your eyes and drain the sink.

“But actually there was a point to bringing that up,” John adds. “Why don’t you go check out the job opening at the Fishbowl?”

“The Fishbowl,” you echo, letting it bounce around your brain until the vague familiarity becomes clarity. “The pet shop? The ad Jake gave me?”

“Yeah,” John says, with what you’re pretty sure is entirely misplaced enthusiasm. He should not be this enthusiastic about his roommate _maybe_ getting a job at the local pet shop. “Oh, come on, don’t make that face. It will be _fun!_ ”

“Sure thing,” you mutter, shoving a towel into John’s hands as you get started drying the clean dishes.

“There will be _puppies_ ,” John informs you.

“I’m a cat person now,” you say, loyally, glancing back to where Mutie is sprawled across a chair.

“Did Mutie convince you?” John laughs.

“Mutie and the fact that your _dog_ wants to _kill me_ ,” you grumble.

“Aww, Dave, I promise that deep down in his little doggy heart, Bec actually likes you lots.”

“Bull _shit_.”

“You totally still like puppies, though. _Everybody_ likes puppies.”

“ _Everybody_ likes _puppies_ ,” you repeat, in a high, mocking falsetto, and _wait shit no fair no fair!_

For the record, the squawk you make when you’re trying to escape the headlock John puts you in is very dignified.

“I mostly remember there being a lot of frogs, at the pet shop,” you muse, when he finally releases you.

“Well, frogs are pretty cool too!” John chirps, giving your hair a final ruffle ( _you swat his hands away_ ). “C’mon, please, at least just go check it out? Tomorrow. When you take a break for lunch. Walk down to the strip mall and check it out.”

“This was all part of your secret plan to get me to bring take-out back from the Italian place next to it,” you accuse him.

He grins, pleased. The smug bastard clearly knows he has won. “That is exactly it. You caught me. Guilty as charged.”

 

“You’re going to be okay while I’m gone?”

You drop your plate in the sink and turn to stare at John incredulously.

“Humor me,” he insists.

“I am going to be okay while you’re gone,” you say, giving him a level look. “Just like I have been for the last _four years_. Do you still want me to bring back Italian take out when I go to pick up a job application from the pet place or whatever?”

“Yes,” he says, but he’s chewing on his lower lip anxiously. “You won’t forget to eat lunch?”

“I mean,” you turn the tap on and begin absentmindedly rinsing the dishes. “I’m not promising I’m going to eat at _exactly noon_ or anything, but I’ll get around to it.”

“If you haven’t _gotten around to it_ by the time I get home from school I’m gonna be mad,” John says, without much heat behind it. He comes over and nudges your hip with his own. “Move over, let me help with that.”

“No,” you huff, shoving back with a little more force. “You have to go get your stuff together, you need to leave soon, moron.”

He makes sad eyes at you.

“I’m going to be _fine_ ,” you grumble. You grab the next dish. “ _You’re_ going to be fine. It’ll all be fine, everyone will be happy, whoop de doo. Now _go get your shit_.”

“ _Make me_ ,” he snipes, but he _does_ seem a little reassured, the weirdo. You wave a soapy fork in his direction threateningly until he slouches out of the room, making faces at you as he goes.

He’ll be fine.

You hope.

 

You walk back into the house in the afternoon to find Dave curled up on the couch under a pile of blankets, a cup of hot chocolate close at hand, and with a clenched jaw.

Your name is John Egbert and you think something might be wrong.

“Hi,” you try.

“Hi,” he says, and lifts the papers in front of him so you can identify them as a job application. You can’t help but beam at him, for that-- he’ll get out of the house more! He’ll meet people and make more friends! He’ll have to settle into some kind of schedule!-- and you get a tiny smile in return. “You do know there’s no guarantee they’ll hire me, right?”

“Uh-huh,” you drawl, kicking off your boots and shedding your coat so you can flop down next to him on the sofa. “Hey, share the blankets.”

“Get your own,” Dave grouses, but he obligingly shifts around until you can huddle under them with him. You steal a sip of his hot chocolate while you’re at it. “ _Hey_! You’re such an asshole.”

“Uh- _huh_ ,” you smirk. You let him steal the mug back. “Did you add cinnamon to that? It was kind of delicious.”

“None of your business,” he huffs, bumping shoulders with you playfully. He takes a long pull from his drink and sets it down. “What’s up, buttercup? How was your day?”

“Fine,” you sigh.

“Doesn’t sound like it.”

“Everyone at school heard about the memorial service over break and they kept offering their condolences,” you mutter, letting your head loll onto his shoulder. It was nice of them, sure, kind of, in theory, but it also meant you didn’t get to go more than ten fucking minutes without someone reminding you that _your father was dead_.

“That sucks,” Dave says. He rests his head on top of yours. “The girls, too?”

“Yeah.”

“That sucks,” he repeats.

You’re quiet for a moment. Dave doesn’t yell at you when you take another gulp of his hot chocolate.

“You should market that,” you finally say, swishing the last chocolatey dregs around in the bottom of the mug. “Seriously.”

“Roxy made it,” he tells you, peering over your shoulder to examine it. “I think it’s a recipe from that book she got at Christmas. _101 Fun Virgin Drinks_ or whatever. I don’t really know what’s in it.”

“I guess I won’t be harassing you into making me another mug, then,” you muse. You finish it off. He snorts.

“You just drank half of _mine_.”

“I’m sad and cold, have pity on me,” you wheedle, poking him in the side. He squirms and rolls his eyes at you.

“I _did_ , that’s why I _let_ you drink half of it.”

“Oh, well,” you snuggle back into his side. He’s just really _warm_ , okay? “Good.”

He goes back to filling out the job application, and you bask in the warmth of your roommate and the cocoon for a good ten minutes. Then he elbows you. You whine pitifully.

“Don’t you have homework to get started on?”

“Daaa-aaave...”

“Stop leeching my body heat and go do something productive.”

“Leeching your body heat _is_ productive. It’s productive in the sense that I’m saving myself from hypothermia.”

“You are not in danger of hypothermia,” he scoffs.

“Rich, coming from the guy who used to dive for the nearest heating vent every time he came in from the harsh Washington winter,” you mutter, then cringe when he elbows you again. “Ugh, fine, how ‘bout this? I’ll get up and start doing my homework if you turn on the heating.”

“That’s Bro’s call, not mine, he’s the one who has to--”

“--Pay the bills, yeah, yeah,” you grumble. You burrow back into the warmth, and thus are in a prime position to witness the way Dave’s ribcage expands and deflates with his huge, dramatic sigh.

“I’ll text him, okay?”

“Thank youuu,” you murmur, trying and failing not to grin against his shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah.”

He shifts away, presumably to locate his cellphone, but resettles before you have a chance to complain.

“Hey,” you start, quietly, while he’s punching at the keys. “Why did you look kinda tense when I came in?”

He freezes momentarily.

“It’s nothing,” he mumbles, after an awkward pause, and resumes typing. You feel a sudden surge of guilt.

“I mean... Dude, if you _really_ don’t want to do the thing at the pet shop, you don’t have to--”

“Don’t be stupid,” Dave snaps, half-heartedly. You look up to find a pink flush gracing his cheekbones. “If it bothered me that much, I wouldn’t do it. I’m not _that_ much of a sucker, Egbert.”

“Something _was_ bothering you, then?” you press.

Dave slumps in defeat. He taps _send_ on his phone, tosses it onto the coffee table, and shifts to curl up with you more thoroughly.

“Roxy and Jane decided to _take a break_ ,” he mumbles.

“Oh,” you say, stunned. “I-- that... sucks... I-- seriously?”

“Yeah,” he says.

“Oh...kay.” You blink. “I... yeah. Okay. What are they-- the girls?”

“Roxy’s gonna stay with the girls,” Dave says, miserably. “In the house.”

“Where’s Jane gonna go?”

“I don’t know.”

“What even--”

“I don’t _know_ ,” Dave hisses, then takes a deep breath. “They-- they got together at lunch today and I thought they were gonna make up and it was gonna be okay and then apparently they almost got in another fight and Jane decided that-- that they should _give each other some breathing room_ or whatever.”

You get an around his shoulders and squeeze, because what the hell are you supposed to _say?_

“Do the girls know yet?” you ask, quietly. He shakes his head.

“Roxy wanted to break it to them herself.”

“And they went to Kanae’s house after school today...” you gnaw at your lower lip nervously. “You’re sure we shouldn’t give them a heads up?”

“Let Roxy do her thing,” Dave mutters.

You give him another squeeze. “Sucks, man.”

“Yeah,” he huffs, then gives an insincere, sharp bark of laughter. “Can’t just have one shitty thing happen and be done with it, right?”

“Guess not,” you say.

“Life, dude,” he says, philosophically, and you can’t help but snort.

“Life,” you agree.

 

When Dave’s brother gets home, he seems-- tired. World-weary, almost. Usually you look at him and you see an adult, a grown-up who still knows how to have fun, but tonight he seems-- really young. It occurs to you that he’s only ten years older than Dave, only twenty-eight years old, and he’s here supporting a couple teenagers after his father murdered his... aunt? You’re not really clear on what Ms.Lalonde was to them.

“Where’s Jake,” Dave murmurs, half asleep underneath you. You’re basically sprawled all over each other on the sofa in your blanket nest. It should be awkward. _Should_ be. You guess you and Dave have just ceased to have boundaries or something. Dirk just studies the pair of you for a moment, then shrugs and heads into the kitchen.

“On his way,” he tosses, over his shoulder. “He missed his bus home and had to wait for the next one.”

“Typical English,” Dave grumbles.

“Are you both done with your homework?” Dirk calls, over the clatter of dishes.

“Yes, _mom_ ,” Dave yells, struggling to sit up with your weight draped over his chest. You reluctantly shift off of him. “Don’t start cooking anything, I already got stuff for dinner.”

There’s a pause, filled by the sound of the fridge opening.

“You got Italian take-out?”

“John made me pick up a job application from the pet shop, so I--”

“I didn’t _make_ you do anything,” you protest.

Dirk sighs.

“Did anybody feed the cat already?”

You and Dave look to where Mutie is asleep on top of your feet, rumbling away like a fuzzy little engine.

“In our defense she hasn’t exactly been broadcasting her hunger,” Dave says.

Dirk grumbles something that ends up being inaudible over the sound of dishes and cabinet doors and the microwave. You and Dave finally shove aside the papers and blankets and kittens you’re buried under, and troop into the kitchen on unsteady legs.

“Pins and needles,” you whimper.

“That’s what you get for sitting around on your ass all afternoon,” Dirk says, easily, leaning back against the counter. “How was school?”

“It kind of sucked,” you admit.

“Fine,” Dave says. He shuffles over to the corner and fills Mutie’s food bowl. She staggers into the kitchen a minute later, twining through his legs with a content purr before burying her entire face in the kibble. “Fuck. I hope I’m a cat in my next life, if reincarnation is a thing.”

“You didn’t even used to _like_ cats,” Dirk points out.

“Mutie has revolutionized my entire worldview,” Dave insists.

“Did you even _have_ any personal experience with cats, before Mutie?”

“Our foster parents had a cat,” Dave says.

“Grumpy old tomcat,” Dirk remembers. “Bit everybody who tried to pet it.”

“I guess that would do it,” you concede. “If you never met any other cats.”

“Damn straight,” Dave says. He meanders away from the food bowl to lightly punch at his brother’s shoulder. “How was work?”

“Eh,” Dirk says.

“Too bad,” Dave says, right as the microwave dings. “Is that the tortellini? Dibs.”

 

When you get back from school the next day, Dave tells you, without looking up from his laptop, “I turned in the application.”

“ _Nice_ ,” you say, maybe a little more enthusiastically than necessary.

“Sure,” Dave mutters.

 

The day after that, Dave isn’t home at all-- there’s just a note on the fridge telling you that he got called in for an interview, and he doesn’t know when he’s going to be back, and _yes_ , Egbert, he ate lunch. Don’t forget to feed Mutie. Don’t let Bro think he’s been kidnapped.

The house is really quiet when Dave’s not home.

 

“How’d it go?”

“I have no idea,” Dave says, kicking off his boots and looking maybe a little blindsided. You wonder if sending a guy with some kind of social anxiety off to do a job interview was maybe not your best idea. “Did you know your friend worked there?”

“My-- oh, Fi or Ari?”

“Arianna,” he says.

“You’ll like her,” you assure him. “She’s kind of-- uh, weird, sometimes, but she’s pretty cool. She and Sol are basically BFFs.”

“That’s not encouraging,” Dave counters. “Sol is an asshole.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Okay yes so am I, and _so are you_ \-- and Kar-- and Rose-- and really almost everybody we know-- but--”

“But?” you prod.

He scowls at you.

“She’s cool,” you repeat, firmly, turning back to your pre-calc. “You’ll get along fine.”

Dave makes a noise that suggests he’s entirely unconvinced, but drops down next to you on the couch to look at what you’re doing.

“Having fun?”

“Bucketloads,” you say, dryly, batting him away. “Don’t you have virtual homework to catch up on, Mister Too-Good-For-Public-School?”

“I got it all done earlier,” he says, airily. “Have you heard from the girls today? Rose isn’t answering my texts.”

“They’re at Kanae’s again,” you say, helplessly, because you’re _really_ not sure you’re comfortable knowing what your baby sister is probably up to over there if texts aren’t being answered.

“Gross,” Dave grumbles, echoing your thoughts. “Y’think we should tell Rox to give ‘em the _Talk?_ ”

“They’ve all had it already,” you mutter. “Hey-- Dave?”

“Sup?”

“What’re we gonna do about the house?”

Dave does not say _which house are you talking about_ , which you are grateful for. He just considers it for a second, then says, “I guess we’ll just work on it whenever we have a free weekend.”

“D’you think Kar will be too busy with Sol to help anymore?”

“I think Kar would kick Captor’s ass for trying to make himself into a bigger priority than his other friends.”

You smile a little. He probably _would_.

“I mean, I’m not saying he’ll _never_ skip out on you for a date,” Dave amends. “But he’d have to be a pretty big asshole to completely forget about you just because he has a boyfriend, now. Which reminds me, we need to get Missy Egbert in on this shit. Make her pull her own weight.”

“We can’t force Jade to do this,” you blurt, dropping your pencil to turn wide, frantic eyes on him. Dave makes a face at you.

“I know you live in some weird alternate universe where being the big brother makes all the depressing shit entirely your responsibility, but she’s gotta help us sort some of this stuff, dude. A lot of it is _hers_.”

You scowl at him.

“Come on, man,” Dave sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I mean-- I get it, alright? Like _I’m_ gonna be thrilled when Rose and Rox finally get around to cleaning up the Lalonde house. No fucking way. I don’t want-- I don’t want to see Rose going through that. But you can’t just-- yeah.”

“I hate you,” you mutter, successfully guilted into submission.

“I’m going to assume that’s your way of admitting I’m right,” he says. “What do you want for dinner? Because I think we’re out of eggs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hey, I'm not sure whether or not Roxy and Jane are gonna break it off or make up and make out. Opinions?  
> As always, I would really love feedback! Comments and constructive criticism would be adored.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mini-update!!  
> but I am now on SUMMER VACATION so hopefully you guys should be seeing more updates from me soon!!  
> ETA 7/8/2015: i dont know if this counts as a trigger warning but this is the messy break-up chapter

gutsyGumshoe [GG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT]

TT: Jane?

GG: Hi, Rose. How are you doing?

TT: Well enough. Thank you for asking.

TT: And yourself?

GG: I’m fine.

TT: Are you really?

GG: I don’t really want to talk about it.

GG: I just wanted to check in on you, I suppose.

GG: You and Jade are doing okay?

TT: Quite.

GG: I’m sorry you girls got stuck in the middle of all this.

TT: It’s fine.

GG: It’s really not.

GG: Listen, sweetheart, if you ever want a packed lunch, just swing by the bakery before you go to school in the morning, okay?

GG: I really didn’t mean to abandon you just because of our stupid fight.

TT: Okay, Jane.

TT: Thank you for the offer. I will let Jade know.

GG: John, too.

TT: Of course.

GG: Love to all of you.

TT: Including Roxy?

TT: Jane?

TT: Are you still there?

TT: I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.

GG: Including Roxy.

gutsyGumshoe [GG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT]

 

You stare at your phone a moment longer, then quietly set it aside, creeping quietly out of your room, down the hallway and into the living room, where you can sneak up behind your girlfriend--

“Wh-- Rose!”

\--and wrap your arms around her waist--

“Geez, I’m trying to study!!”

“Mmhmmm.”

\--and bury your face in her shoulder.

Your name is Rose Lalonde and your family is making you sad.

“Seriously,” Jade continues, stubbornly, although you pointedly notice she’s _hardly_ doing anything to break out of your hold. “First-semester finals are coming up, you know! Do you want me to fail English, is that what this is?”

“You’re not going to fail English,” you murmur, against her neck, shifting so you’re curled up against her back where she’s perched on the sofa. “Don’t be silly.”

“You don’t know that,” Jade insists.

“Jade,” you say. “You’re in _Creative Writing_ this semester.”

“So?”

You let the silence hold.

“Okay _fine_ so I’m not going to fail English,” Jade concedes. “But I could fail something else. Anything else. Science. Math.”

“Doubtful.”

“ _Rose_.”

“You’re very smart,” you remind her, propping your chin on her shoulder. “And you’re getting A’s in all of your classes. You’re not going to fail anything.”

“It’s a very _low_ A in Spanish.”

“To be perfectly frank, I’m amazed you’re getting an A in Spanish at all. I’ve heard the academic equivalent of horror stories about the Spanish classes.”

Jade pouts.

“I promise you,” you tell her, solemnly, “That nobody is going to lecture you if you so happen to get a B in Spanish.”

She laughs. “Only ‘cause you and Kanae are taking French, and you have no room to judge.”

“And also,” you say, “Because you are acing everything else, and we _know_ you are very smart and that’s not going to change because you are not perfectly fluent in Spanish.”

“Sweet-talker,” Jade mumbles, twisting in your hold to plant a clumsy kiss on the top of your head. You manage to catch a glimpse of flushed cheeks before she turns back to her schoolwork. “What’re you out here pestering me for? Get bored of your knitting?”

“No,” you huff, then tell her neck, more quietly, “Jane just texted me.”

Jade startles a little. “Oh.”

“She said we could stop by the bakery in the mornings to get lunches, if we were so inclined.”

“That’s,” Jade hesitates. “That’s very nice of her.”

“She seemed really sorry, Jade,” you whisper, hiding your face against the back of her neck.

“Rose-- no, hey, c’mere,” Jade squirms around, awkwardly, until she can get her legs up onto the couch and haul you into her lap. It’s so sweet and _Jade_ and-- “Hey-- oh, _stop_. Rose! Rose _no_ , I never know what to do when you start crying--”

You hiccup a laugh, groping behind her on the side table until your hand fists in the scratchy-soft material of a tissue. You manage to wipe your nose without disentangling yourself, for all the good it does-- you’re still crying a little, so your nose is still running, and it’s all kind of disgusting, really.

“Why are you crying?” Jade asks, helplessly.

“I don’t know,” you say, honestly. “I don’t-- know.”

You do know, though. You know that you’ve known Jane for as long as you’ve known Roxy, that Jane was the one who baked your birthday cake every winter, that Roxy was the one bandaging your scrapes and hosing you down with bug spray every summer. You know that Jane loves Bro almost as much as she loves Roxy, and that Roxy was on a trip when she met him, and spent the entire time eagerly awaiting her return home while Bro texted her about the new girl, pretty and sweet and smart as a whip. You know that they had already been dating for almost two years when you met them, that since then they’ve never had a fight this bad, that they’ve always been together-- a unit, _JaneandRoxy_. You guess what you _really_ don’t know is what to do with yourself now that they’re-- not. You certainly can’t pick _sides_ , because you were there, okay, and Jane might’ve said-- what she said, but Roxy said some hurtful, petty things, too, and you just-- you just don’t _know_.

“It’s-- okay?” Jade sounds so uncertain that you can’t help another hiccuping laugh. She tries again, and manages more conviction this time, with, “It’s okay. We-- we made it this far, didn’t we? And that was-- worse, I mean, this is only a breakup and-- wow, that sounded really bad, I promise I didn’t mean it that way? But we can totally make it through this. We’ve _got_ this.”

“We really, really don’t,” you say, taking another fistful of tissues, but you feel reassured nonetheless, and your tears have mostly subsided. Jade takes some of the tissues and helps you clean up your snotty face. “Jade?”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s throw out all the alcohol.”

“What, in the house?”

“Yes,” you say. “Also Dave and John and Bro’s house. And my-- _old_ house, and maybe also your old house, and maybe we can get Kanae’s sister to put their alcohol away whenever we come over. Since it’s highly likely that she’s going to start asking to invite us and our families to dinner, soon.”

Jade contemplates this seriously, for a moment, before giving you a doubtful look. “You don’t really think Roxy’s going to relapse?”

“No, I--” you scrub at her eyes. “I just-- I thought maybe it would be one less thing for her to worry about. If she _couldn’t_.”

“I’m pretty sure she’s old enough to go out and buy herself more booze,” Jade says, but she follows up with, “Okay, you have to get off me if we’re going to do this,” so you think maybe it’s alright.

 

timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering gutsyGumshoe [GG]

TT: Hey, Jane.

TT: You there?

TT: Guess not. You’re probably working.

TT: I guess I just wanted to make sure you knew that I’m not mad at you,

TT: And if you ever want to talk,

TT: Or even if you don’t want to talk and you just want to come over and harass me and Jake and maybe commandeer the kids’ wii,

TT: That’s cool.

TT: So yeah.

TT: Sucks that you’re not around as much anymore,

TT: But I get it.

TT: Stay cool.

timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering gutsyGumshoe [GG]

 

turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG]

TG: sup rox

TG: dave

TG: i lvoe you

TG: fuck

TG: *love

TG: but if you try to comfort me

TG: i’m gonna punch you in the faec.

TG: *FACE

TG: wow ok so i guess youre just really bad at typing after all

TG: don’t start w/ me kid

TG: what do you want?

TG: dude chill i just wanted to know if you ladies wanted to come over and watch the hobbit with us

TG: but okay jesus i guess you dont want to

TG: the hobbit?

TG: yes

TG: that’s the best you’ve got.

TG: you’re baiting me into letting myself be coddled with the hobbit.

TG: gandalf is in it

TG: if i wanted to see gandalf i would watch the lord of the rings

TG: martin freeman is in it

TG: you’re a little shit.

TG: chill rox

TG: you read this

TG: this is me promising you that we arent trying to let yourself be coddled

TG: there will be no coddling

TG: just movies

TG: and probably a pile i guess all of our movie nights seem to degenerate into “lets make a giant fucking pile on the sofa its not like dave LIKES being able to feel his legs”

TG: uuuuuuugh

TG: cmoooooon

TG: shouldn’t you be at work right now or soemthing??

TG: *something

TG: nah

TG: i dont start until next week

TG: cmmoooooooooooooon

TG: the girls can’t stay up late it’s a school night

TG: okay 1) theyre fucking 17 and 18 years old i think they can manage staying up till like ten thirty or whatever

TG: and 2) its friday

TG: no it’s not.

TG: yes it is

TG: no.

TG: yes

TG: no!

TG: yes

TG: check your phone

TG: it’s not!!

TG: fuck

TG: it is

TG: ha

TG: whatever kid

TG: were starting in like 20 minute bring snacks

TG: we don’t have any snacks

TG: dont lie to me lalonde i know about the twizzlers

TG: shit who told you??

turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG]

TG: s2g dave i will ground the hell out of yuo

TG: *you

tipsyGnostalgic [TG] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also wow please tell me if i screwed up dave and roxy's pesterlog that was really confusing for me  
> feedback is, as always, adored!! i would love to hear concrit.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA 7/8/2015: trigger warning for discussion of death near the end of the chapter

Your name is Dave Strider and you can’t feel your toes.

“Winter is bullshit,” you tell John, who just rolls his eyes and crams another textbook into his backpack. “Jesus, how many of those things do you _have?_ ”

“Too many,” he says, ruefully. It takes him several good hard yanks to get the zipper closed around them. “I’m gonna break my back before finals are over, Dave, I just know it.”

You snort and turn back to your laptop.

“You’ve got work this afternoon, right?” John calls, over his shoulder, as he starts tugging on boots and coats and gloves so he might survive his walk to school.

“Yeah,” you say. “Probably won’t be home when you get back. Maybe not until dinner time.”

“Huh,” John says.

“Sorry,” you say, twisting around to look at him. “I guess you could, uh, hang out with Kar for the afternoon?”

“Dave,” John says, long-sufferingly, “I promise you, I can survive alone in the house for a few hours.”

“ _Hey_ ,” you say. “You were always nagging _me_ about being alone all day, hypocrite.”

“Yeah, because you _never_ get out of the house,” John scoffs, heaving his backpack over one shoulder. “Or you never _used_ to, anyway. I take credit for all the improvement, by the way.”

“Get out of my house,” you say, throwing the tissue box at him, and the door swings shut on his laughter.

 

Your shift, you were told, is technically the second shift, except there was also some weird stuff about other teenagers who might be joining you a few hours later? You guess it’s probably because they don’t want to work third shift but they don’t get out of school until three thirty, so-- you guess you won’t actually be working with any of John’s friends. At least not for your entire shift.

Except then you show up and one of the girls is perched casually on the checkout counter, a textbook in her lap and an apron covering her front.

“Oh, hey!” she chirps, when she spots you standing awkwardly on the welcome mat. “You must be... Dave, right? Welcome to the Fishbowl!”

“Uh, hi,” you say. “Thanks?”

You cast a surreptitious glance at her name tag. _Ari_. You kind of remember seeing her somewhere before, a little bit? John’s friend, then-- or you guess technically Sol’s friend? Whatever, you don’t really understand their little friend-group.

“I’ll be showing you what we do around here,” she continues, shutting her textbook and hopping down off the counter. “Or what you’ll be doing around here, anyway! Ready to start?”

“I guess?” you say, uncertainly.

“Great!” Ari says. She darts behind the counter again, beckoning you after her. “C’mon, you can dump your stuff in the break room.”

“Okay,” you mutter, and at her encouragement you step through the STAFF ONLY door behind the checkout counter. It’s a pretty modest space. There’s a circular table, a handful of those really uncomfortable plastic chairs you find in meeting rooms... you think probably the only thing that elevates it from _place employees come to cry after their shift_ to _break room_ is the coffee maker and mini-fridge in the corner.

“You can go ahead and stick your coat and stuff on a hanger in the closet,” Ari tells you, having beelined for a large plastic container on the floor in another corner. You can hear the clatter of the lid as you’re stuffing your gloves into your coat pockets, and when you turn around again, Ari shoves a pile of green fabric into your hands, which you absolutely do not almost drop, because you are a smooth motherfucker and she didn’t startle you at all. Obviously. “Here’s an apron for you-- we don’t have fancy name tags, really, but you can take one of these blank ones and just write your name on it.”

“Sure,” you mumble, fumbling with the apron until you have it straightened out enough to put it on. You spend about thirty seconds trying to tie the back properly before you just give up and double-knot it, which you will probably hate yourself for later when you’re trying to undo it behind your back. Then you take the sharpie and rectangle of cardstock Ari hands you, and write DAVE in big block letters. “Alright, so how do I--”

Ari hands you a safety pin.

You give her a _look_.

“Told you,” she says, grinning. “Nothing fancy.”

“Alrighty then,” you say, clipping it to the front of your apron. “Hey, can I-- do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“Go right ahead,” Ari says breezily, herding you back out of the break room into the store.

“Shouldn’t you be at school?”

“Nah,” she says. She pats her textbook as you walk by the counter. “I’m a senior! So I’ve got all the classes I really need to get enough credits in the mornings, and then I can leave early in the afternoons.”

“Sweet setup,” you observe.

“Yep!” she sing-songs. “Enough about me, though. So in the interview, you mentioned you get kind of nervous around people, or at least strangers or lots of people at once, is that correct?”

You cringe. You were kind of surprised that hadn’t been a deal-breaker. “Uh... yes.”

“Right,” Ari nods to herself, leading you through the aisles. “So we thought maybe starting you out as a cashier wouldn’t really work out.”

“Oh jesus _yes_ ,” you say, before you can stop yourself. Ari just laughs.

“Thought maybe you’d like that! Yeah, for this shift it’s usually just gonna be the two of us, at least for the days you’re signed up for. So we’ll try it out with me at the checkout, and you taking care of cleaning stuff and restocking the shelves. I’ll try to help some when there’s not really anybody in here-- and you’ll probably still have to talk to a few people, just to tell them where to find something they’re looking for and stuff like that. But hopefully this should at least be a midway point, or something.”

“Nah, it’s--” you swallow. “It’s good. Thanks, you didn’t-- you didn’t have to change stuff up for me.”

“We barely had to change anything,” Ari says, dismissively. “And don’t go thanking me yet, you’re gonna have to be cleaning all these fish tanks--”

 

“Ari.”

“Yes, Dave?”

“Are there _really_ that many people in this town with fish?”

“Oh, you’d be surprised!”

“Right.”

 

“What’s with all the frogs?”

“Oops-- don’t mind them, they’re my project!”

“Your _what_?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything they need. Just leave ‘em be.”

“Wait, _wait_ , hold up a sec--”

 

“--I mean, people on the other shifts will probably have the labels in place for you,” Ari taps one, helpfully. “So you shouldn’t have too much trouble figuring out where to put things, as long as you’re in the right section and you can find the other stuff from the same brand.”

“Right,” you say, eyeing the rest of the aisle of cat food.

“I think that should be about it... Oh!” Ari snaps her fingers and points at you. “Overtime bonuses-- there’s this humane society that visits, once or twice a month, on the weekends... They bring pets to adopt, you know, mostly kittens, the occasionally puppy or three.”

“Or three,” you echo.

“Or five,” Ari says, blithely. “But we tend to get a lot more traffic those days, so we might call you in, if the staff are overwhelmed and you’re available. But you do get the overtime bonus for it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Great! So...” Ari shrugs. “Can’t think of anything else. That just about covers everything.”

“That’s it?” you say, a little surprised. “That’s all the job training you’re throwing at me?”

“Oh, _no_ ,” Ari grins wickedly. “Dave, Dave, Dave. You didn’t think we were going to let you at the fish tanks without showing you how to clean them _properly_ , did you?”

This is it, you think. You have reached the point in your life where you know people who can make cleaning a fish tank sound terrifying, and you’re not even that surprised.

 

It’s not actually as late as you expected it to be, by the time you stumble back into the house-- almost five. Of course, it’s the middle of the fucking winter, so the sun is already slipping under the horizon, and you are lucky as all hell so the gross rain-snow-slush that you have come to hate so dearly starts up as you are walking home, and basically all of this means that, although you are home earlier than you expected, you are simultaneously sopping wet and frozen to the marrow of your bones, and you fully expect to use the bonus time to take a nice, long, _hot_ shower.

Wait what was that noise in the kitchen. _Good god what is that delicious smell._

“Dave!” John calls, cheerfully, as you’re trying to pry off your boots with frozen fingers. It’s not really working for you. “Dave, hey! Welcome home!”

“Yeah, hi,” you say, distractedly. You finally get the boot off, with a burst of vicious energy that leads to the boot coming off your foot so forcefully you almost hit yourself in the face with it. “What’s--”

John appears, wearing a soft gray sweater that almost immediately makes you jealous, it just looks _so fucking warm_. You’re momentarily distracted by your fit of envy, and in that moment John somehow manages to deal with your other boot, and your gloves, and the buttons on your coat.

“Jesus,” you manage, staring after him in disbelief as he disappears back into the kitchen as quickly as he came. “Oh my god, are you some kind of god of winter apparel?”

“It helps if you can actually feel your fingers,” John informs you. You have to admit that he probably has a point, there, so instead of trying to argue, you nudge the boots back over to the entryway and throw your coat and scarf over the coat rack, then stumble into the kitchen.

“Hi,” you repeat, going to peer over John’s shoulder at the stove. “That smells-- I don’t even have a word for how good this smells.”

“It’s just mac and cheese,” John mutters, elbowing you playfully, but you think you catch a faint flush of pleasure at the tops of his cheeks. “And _you’re_ just hungry. Did you remember to eat lunch before you went to work?”

“Yes, _mother_.”

“Don’t you sass me, young man,” John laughs, but then he elbows you harder and you’re forced to step back, grumbling under your breath. “Hey, stop dripping all over me, geez, that’s cold! Go take a shower or something, dinner isn’t even ready yet.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you sigh, casting one last longing glance at the pot before you tromp off to the bathroom to thaw.

 

When you come back out to the kitchen, John barely even spares you a glance before he’s saying, “Oh my _god_ , Dave, I swear you have no sense of self-preservation, go back to the bathroom and bring me a towel.”

You’re a split-second away from just going along with it when you realize what he wants the towel for, and you balk. “No, you vicious, vicious creature, my hair is already dry enough!”

“You’re going to catch a _cold_ ,” John snaps, jabbing the spoon in your direction.

“Maybe I _would_ catch a cold,” you say, crossing your arms stubbornly, “If I _waltzed outside right now_. We are inside the house, John. The house. _Where the heating is._ ”

“You’ve already caught a cold once this winter--”

“Yeah, because I stood around in the slush-rain for half an hour in a _suit--_ ”

“Right, you were wet and it was cold, which is exactly what’s going on right now--”

“How many times do I need to say the word _heating_ before you--”

“This morning you were complaining about how cold you were--”

“I-- okay, yes, I was, but still--”

“Towel. Now. Do it--”

“No!” you protest, dodging out of the way when he tries to shove you back toward the doorway.

“Why are you so stubborn?” John complains. He stirs the food with more force than you think is probably necessary. “It’s not like it’ll hurt you.”

“It _does_ , when you do it,” you grumble, passing behind him to flop into a chair at the table. “And I’m not a little _kid_ , dude, I don’t need you to dry my _hair_ for me.”

John mutters something under his breath. Probably disparaging your intelligence, you decide. More loudly, though, he says, “Your bro is late again.”

“Yeah.”

“Jake, too.”

“Uh-huh.”

John twists his torso in an attempt to look at you and keep stirring at the same time.

“Isn’t that _done_ yet?” you whine. “I’m hungry.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He turns off the heat on the stove and shoves the pot to the side of the burner, stretching onto his toes to get plates down from the cabinets. “They’re usually pretty late, aren’t they?”

“I guess,” you say. There’s a quiet scraping noise, and then John is setting a plate full of steaming, cheesy, noodle-y goodness down in front of you. It smells fucking _fantastic_ , and you dig in without a second thought. John snorts, quietly, as he sits down across from you.

For a while, the only sound in the kitchen is the scrape of your forks across the plates. John is eating sedately, thoughtfully, and after your first few frantic bites, you manage to slow yourself down a little, nudging your pasta around your plate absentmindedly while you chew. It is, you decide, even better when you’re not virtually inhaling it. You can’t remember the last time you had mac and cheese made from scratch, but this is really, really good. You kind of wonder where John learned to cook, and you open your mouth to start asking the question-- but then you realize the answer is probably _my dad taught me_ , and-- it’s a nice night, okay? You had a pretty good day, with Ari and your first day at your new job, and you and John have been bantering, and dinner is good, and you don’t _want_ to bring up his dad and make everything sad and awkward.

So you shove another forkful of noodles into your mouth, instead of talking.

“Is it like this all the time?” John asks, suddenly.

“Fwwah li’ fwah a’ ti?” you mumble, covering your mouth self-consciously when you realize it’s still full of half-chewed food. After swallowing, you try again. “S’what like what all the time?”

John waves his fork vaguely at-- the room at large? “You know. Nobody else around, home alone?”

“You tell me,” you say, a little snippily. “You’ve been living here for a month, haven’t you?”

He makes a face at you. “Yeah, but so have you, right? I thought maybe you were all still settling in and figuring out your schedules, but you never act like it’s weird when he’s not around.”

“I guess not,” you say, slowly, considering it. “Bro is-- he gets really into what he does, I guess. He doesn’t really like leaving projects unfinished at the end of the day. Some stuff he just _can’t_ do all in one day, but if he has the option, he kind of just keeps working. Until it’s done.”

“Huh,” says John.

“I don’t know,” you mutter, stabbing your fork into your pile of noodles.

“And Jake’s the same way?” John guesses.

“I don’t know,” you repeat. “I guess so.”

There’s an awkward pause.

“Sorry,” John offers, after a few beats. “It’s just different. From what I’m used to.”

You freeze, fork halfway to your mouth. “Uh-- yeah?”

“Yeah.” John pokes at his food. “I just-- Jade. Jade was always home with me. And D-- Dad was. Usually. Home. In time for d-dinner.”

He takes a deep, shuddering breath. Then he sets his fork down and leans back in his chair with a stilted, forced laugh, eyes sliding closed. “Shit. Sorry.”

You put your own fork down, uncertainly, and start reaching across the table, hesitantly-- John cracks an eye open, and you almost retract the hand in a hurry, but you force yourself to follow through with the motion until you’re squeezing his shoulder. His eyes close again, and he leans into it.

“Sorry,” he says again. “I just-- doesn’t really help with getting over it if I keep bringing it up, huh?”

“No,” you say, hurriedly. “I mean-- it’s okay, yeah? You can-- fuck. I mean, what do I know about the grieving process, right? But I think-- you should. Talk about it. If that is a thing you want to do. You-- _shit, I am so bad at this_.” John barks out a laugh, which, that’s good. You think. “It-- can’t help any more to just repress it, right? _God_. I have no idea what I’m talking about. You should probably talk to Kar or something instead.”

“I dunno, Dave,” John gives you a small, tired smile. “You’re doing okay.”

“Well, that’s good,” you mumble, scrubbing a hand over your face. “You-- I don’t mind hearing about it or anything? If that was a concern at all, in any way. Which it probably wasn’t. But you can talk to me about it, if that is a thing you would want to do.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” John promises. “...And probably also talk to Kar.”

“That’s probably a better idea,” you tell him, sinking back into your own chair with a sense of relief.

“No, you’re fine,” John says. You have no idea what to do with that, so you shrug, awkwardly, and force a smile. “Sorry for-- going all-- sad.”

“I’m not going to get mad at you for being sad, John.”

“No, I know,” John sits forward in his chair again, and stubbornly digs into his food again. “I don’t know why I-- it just doesn’t feel like it takes much, right now, does it? To feel sad. It’s like we’re all distracted with our school stuff and our job stuff and then we turn around a corner and we remember all the stupid sad things that are going on. Like one minute I’m studying for AP chem and the next I’m just staring at the ceiling all depressed, because my dad is dead and Rose’s mom is dead and we have to clean up our houses so we can sell them and also my friends’ sister who my sister and my friend are living with is fighting with her girlfriend, and it’s making everyone even sadder.”

All you can think to say is, “I didn’t know you were taking AP chem.”

“ _Dave_ ,” John chokes out, but he’s kind of laughing, a little, and he kicks you under the table playfully so you think it’s alright. “Yes, I’m taking AP chem, and six other classes, and I have finals in a week, I do not have time to feel sorry for myself.”

“You must not be very good at multitasking,” you inform him.

“Rude,” John tells you. “I’m great at multitasking. Just not when I’m crying all over the place.”

“Sure thing, John.”

“Don’t you condescend at me, mister,” John says, mock-seriously. Then, “Hey, it’s cool if Kar and Sol and the girls come over for study-parties, right? You’re okay with those people? Or would it still just be too many people?”

You hesitate.

“I promise we can beat them up together if they start macking on each other on your bed again?” John tries, and you can’t help it, you crack up, and then _he_ cracks up, and you’re almost definitely both emotionally traumatized but you think you’ll probably survive, somehow.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (whispers) please don't shoot me

arsenicCatnip [AC] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG]

AC: :33< kaaaaaar

AC: :33< kaaaaaaaaaaaar

AC: :33< kaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar

AC: :33< kar are you ignoring me?? rude!!!

CG: JESUS CHRIST, NAEM, IT TOOK ME LIKE 30 SECONDS TO GET MY PHONE OUT OF MY BAG. IMPATIENT MUCH?

CG: WHAT’S UP?

AC: :33< can elias come to the study-party tonight?

CG: THE STUDY WH

CG: NO.

CG: *YOU’RE* NOT EVEN COMING TO THE STUDY THING.

AC: :33< kar!!!

CG: WHAT YOU WEREN’T INVITED.

CG: ALSO, STRIDER DOESN’T EVEN KNOW ELIAS.

AC: :33< he does so!

AC: :33< he came over with me when john told us about his dad!

AC: :33< and he was at our new years party!

CG: YEAH, WELL, I DON’T THINK STRIDER WAS PAYING THAT MUCH ATTENTION TO THE AWKWARD MUSCLE-Y JUNIOR LURKING BEHIND YOU IN EITHER OF THOSE SITUATIONS.

CG: YOU CAN’T JUST INVITE ELIAS TO SOMEONE ELSE’S HOUSE WITHOUT ASKING THEM FIRST, ALRIGHT?

AC: :33< *ac frowns sadly*

CG: DON’T GIVE ME THAT.

CG: AS LONG AS WE’RE ON THE SUBJECT, YOU CAN’T JUST INVITE *YOURSELF* OVER TO OTHER PEOPLE’S HOUSES, EITHER.

AC: :33< you and john show up at each other’s houses without asking first all the TIME!!

AC: :33< you and sol, too!

CG: THAT’S DIFFERENT.

CG: JOHN AND SOL AND I HAVE AN ESTABLISHED OPEN-DOOR POLICY, WITH CLEAR BOUNDARIES AND RULES THAT WE CAREFULLY DISCUSSED.

CG: ONE THAT DOESN’T NECESSARILY APPLY TO YOU.

AC: :33< kar you’re not being very nice right now!

CG: WELL I DON’T KNOW HOW TO EXPLAIN THIS NICELY, NAEM!

CG: I’M SORRY YOU OVERHEARD AND ASSUMED YOU COULD COME, OKAY?

CG: EVEN I ASK FIRST BEFORE I HEAD OVER THESE DAYS.

CG: JOHN IS ROOMING WITH SOMEONE ELSE NOW, SO HE HAS TO CHECK WITH STRIDER FIRST.

CG: AND STRIDER’S GOT HIS WEIRD ANXIETY ISSUES.

CG: SO WE HAVE TO RESPECT THAT.

AC: :33< *ac sulks back into her den, giving her mean ol’ big brother a sad look over her shoulder before she goes!*

CG: OH FOR CRYING OUT LOUD.

 

carcinoGeneticist [CG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB]

CG: JOHN.

EB: kar!

CG: NAEMI IS SULKING BECAUSE I TOLD HER SHE WASN’T INVITED TO OUR “STUDY PARTY”.

CG: HOW INCLINED ARE YOU TO EXTEND THE INVITATION?

EB: oh, geez.

EB: i dunno, kar. i’ll have to check with dave.

EB: if we get too many more people it’ll probably freak him out.

CG: I KNOW. SORRY.

CG: HE’S DOING BETTER, THOUGH, RIGHT?

EB: i don’t know, sure?

EB: he still doesn’t leave the house that much, aside from work and helping me with my old house, so it’s hard to say.

EB: maybe i should drag him to the park sometime.

EB: that’s totally a thing i should do.

EB: i’ll tell him he needs to get out and use his new camera.

CG: I THOUGHT HE WAS DOING BETTER, WITH THE GIRLS IN AND OUT ALL THE TIME.

CG: AND ME AND SOL.

EB: well, he kind of already knows the girls? and they don’t usually get too excited and start shouting and grabbing at him.

EB: also i think he’s not too sure about sol, but he likes you so he deals with it.

EB: these are my educated guesses, obviously, since i am not actually dave and i can’t read his mind.

CG: HE LIKES ME?

EB: of course he does! you’re bros, kar.

CG: WHEN DID THAT HAPPEN.

EB: probably when you were bonding over how weird and tragic your lives are, at the new years party.

EB: or whatever you two were doing? not really sure!

EB: anyway, you texted him about it when you finally got together with sol, how did you not realize you were friends?

CG: ARE YOU STILL BITTER THAT I DIDN’T TELL YOU FIRST?

CG: IT’S TIME TO LET IT GO, JOHN.

EB: it will never be time to let it go, you jackass, i thought we were BEST FRIENDS.

CG: ANYWAY, HE COMPLAINED THROUGH THE ENTIRE CONVERSATION.

EB: he’s DAVE, of course he did.

EB: i think you’re just being stubborn at this point, kar!

CG: WHATEVER.

CG: OKAY FINE NOW THAT I’M THINKING ABOUT IT IT’S PRETTY OBVIOUS THAT WE SOMEHOW BECAME FRIENDS.

EB: yeah, pretty much.

EB: oh, hey, text from dave, hold on.

EB: okay, dave is okay with naem coming over!

EB: but between you and me kar...

CG: I KNOW.

CG: I’LL TRY TO REMIND HER TO NOT BE SOâ€¦ COMPLETELY FUCKING OFF-THE-WALLS.

EB: and elias can’t come!

CG: NO, WE ALREADY ESTABLISHED THAT.

EB: okay, good.

EB: oh fuck, i gotta go now, i think the teacher is looking my wa

ectoBiologist [EB] changed their mood to OFFLINE.

CG: JESUS CHRIST, YOU ARE SUCH A GIGANTIC DOOFUS.

carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB]

 

CG: NAEM.

CG: ARE YOU STILL SULKING?

CG: OF COURSE YOU ARE. HOW MATURE.

CG: NAEMI.

CG: FINE, I GUESS I WON’T TELL YOU THAT JOHN SAID IT’S OKAY IF YOU COME WITH ME.

AC: :33< he did?!

CG: YES. HE DID.

CG: BUT YOU HAVE TO BEHAVE, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD.

AC: :33< i will!!!

CG: AND NO ELIAS.

AC: :33< :(

CG: NO, NAEM.

AC: :33< fiiiiine.

AC: :33< can i bring my tea set?

CG: YOU WOULD HAVE TO GO BACK TO THE HOUSE FOR IT.

CG: WHY DON’T YOU JUST WAIT AND SEE IF THEY HAVE THEIR OWN TEA POT?

CG: LALONDE PROBABLY HAS ONE YOU CAN BORROW.

AC: :33< okay!

AC: :33< thank you kar! you are the BEST.

CG: YEAH, YEAH.

carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased pestering arsenicCatnip [AC]

 

turntechGodhead [TG] started pestering tentacleTherapist [TT]

TG: just fyi john just gave kar permission to bring naemi to your study thing so its probably more of a tea party now

TT: Duly noted.

TT: It will be the most focused, educational tea party you have ever witnessed.

TG: well ive never witnessed a tea party before so

TT: Yes, you have.

TT: You were a participant, in fact.

TG: what

TT: Don’t you remember, brother dear?

TT: When I broke my arm?

TG: we dont talk about that winter

TG: doesnt count

TG: never happened

TT: Whatever you say, Dave.

turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT]

 

“No,” you say. “We actually don’t have a tea set.”

Naemi looks crestfallen.

“You can check with the girls though,” you try.

“I don’t want to walk all the way to Jade’s house,” she whines.

“Understandable,” you say. “It _is_ all the way across the street.”

Naemi stares at you for a long moment before realization dawns on her face, and she looks contrite. “Oh! Oh, I-- I forgot. I’m--”

“It’s okay,” you say, because you have no idea what else you can say here. “C’mon, come inside, you’re letting all the cold air in and I think your brother’s face is going to freeze that way.”

“ _What_ way?” Kar snaps.

“The scowly way.”

Kar splutters angrily, but you don’t let him make a big deal out of it, because _they_ might still have all their winter coats on but you’re standing in the doorway in flannel pajama pants and a hoodie, so you seize him by the sleeve and haul him inside. Naemi gracefully dodges in after you.

“Finally,” John says, from his blanket nest on the couch. “What were you guys doing out there, discussing the meaning of life?”

“Yeah, it was crazy deep, dude,” you tell him, climbing back over him and shoving into his side to share the blankets. “You really missed out. Move your legs, would you?”

Naemi, for reasons unknown to you, looks positively delighted by this turn of events. Little sisters are just weird, you guess.

Kar mostly looks cold and grumpy.

“AP Chem is our priority,” he informs John, fumbling with the zippers on his boots. “Then history, then--”

“--Calc, I know, Kar, geez,” John moans, letting his head loll sideways to rest against yours. “We’ve still got almost a week, can’t we take things one day at a time for now?”

“Yeah, Kar,” Naemi wheedles, making big sad brown puppy eyes at him. “Can’t we take it easy at first? It’s so much pressure if we start trying to study everything all at once--!”

“Well--”

“It would be wiser,” Rose says, mildly, and you and John groan and huddle closer to each other at the blast of winter air that accompanies her into the house, “To study a little bit of everything, every night. But it’s certainly not far enough into the process that we need to _cram_.”

“I wasn’t suggesting cramming,” Kar mutters.

“Of course you weren’t,” she says, magnanimously. “Move over, Dave, I’m joining the pile.”

“Like hell you are,” you protest. John snorts, a warm, sudden gust of hot breath pretty much directly into your ear. Rose pauses midway through stripping out of her coat to narrow her eyes at you. “Aren’t you going to have a bunch of girlfriends to snuggle up to in a few minutes? Make your _own_ blanket pile!”

“You just don’t want to share John,” she says.

“I _am_ a furnace,” John agrees.

“You are not,” you tell him. “You have the coldest fucking feet, it is not even funny.”

“Yet here you are,” he says, nudging you with his elbow.

“It’s not like I have any other options,” you huff. “I mean I’m not going to cuddle with _Kar--_ no offense, man--”

“None taken,” Kar assures you, dryly.

“Only because Sol would beat you up,” John says.

“Sol would not beat him up,” says Kar. “Can’t two guys just not want to cuddle with each other? Not all of us are touchy-feely monsters, _John_.”

“You like to cuddle,” John says. “You’ve cuddled with _me_ before.”

Kar glowers at him.

“Well, okay, whatever,” you say. “It’s totally okay for us to have a non-cuddling kind of friendship, though, it doesn’t mean we hate each other forever. Can somebody pass me my laptop?”

Rose does, then climbs onto the sofa and sits on top of your shins.

“Hey, _ow_ ,” John whines.

“You just completely ignored me earlier, didn’t you?” you demand.

“Kanae and Jade were talking to teachers, and are unlikely to arrive for another few minutes,” Rose says, delicately. “Thus, until they are here, I will have to make do.”

“Make do?” John wrinkles his nose at her. “Rude! I’ll have you know we are superior cuddlers, Rose.”

“Mmm-hmmmm,” she says, lifting her bag onto the couch with her to begin pulling out textbooks. “Shall we begin, or would you like to whine some more?”

“I would like to whine some more,” you say.

“Shut up, Dave,” Rose says.

 

Your name is John Egbert, and when Dave stumbles back into the house at six thirty the next night, you realize with a jolt of panic that you meant to get all of these teenagers out of his house before he got back from work.

“Um,” he says, frozen in the doorway.

“Dave!” Resa chirrups, from where she’s sprawled across Kar and Sol’s laps on the ground. “Join the party!”

“No, I think I’ll, uh--” he looks at you, frantically, already edging toward the hallway that will let him flee to the bedroom.

“Actually,” you say, loudly, over whatever Resa and Jade and Rose are trying to say, “Can you go check on the food for me, I don’t want to accidentally burn dinner.”

You haven’t even started dinner yet, really, but Dave ducks into the kitchen without a word and it’s only a heartbeat before you hear the clatter of pans and the fridge being opened. Maybe it will be a good compromise? You chew your lower lip absentmindedly. Maybe being in the kitchen is removed enough that he won’t feel pressured or cornered or whatever happens, but close enough that he could still interact with you guys if he wants?

Shit. You hope you actually have something for him to cook. Wait how many people is he going to try to cook for? You really do intend to evict all these people before dinner--

“ROSE,” Dave yells, “Come get your stupid tea off the stove, it’s in my way!”

“It’s not STUPID!” Jade and Naemi yowl, in unison. Rose just sighs delicately and meanders into the kitchen, looking put-upon.

After a moment, quiet murmurs are drifting out, and you force yourself to stop worrying about it. Dave knows how to take care of himself, and Rose will help him if he needs it. There’s nothing to freak out over.

Except your AP Chem final.

 

“I’m going to fail _everything_ ,” Jade moans, flopping down onto your sofa to bury her face in a cushion.

“You are not,” Rose says, with the kind of patience that makes you think they’ve already had this conversation several times.

“I am,” Jade insists. “ _Especially_ Spanish.”

“You’re not gonna fail, Jade,” you laugh, nudging her with your foot. “You’ve got this. Right, Dave?”

Dave hums non-committally.

“Dave.”

“Yes, right, no failing will happen,” Dave says, distractedly, and types something rapid-fire.

“What are you doing on there, anyway?” Jade demands, leaning over you in an attempt to look at his screen.

“Studying,” Dave mutters. He types again, a little more forcefully.

“Big test?” Kanae guesses, looking sympathetic.

“Finals,” Dave clarifies. He jabs the enter key. You peer over his shoulder, and blink in surprise when there’s _math_ on the screen. “All of you stop looking so surprised, right now. We have assessments for online classes, too, y’know.”

“You should have said something,” you tell him, waving at the math problems. “This is the same stuff _we’re_ doing in Calc, you could’ve been studying with us this whole time.”

“It’s not my fault you’re not very perceptive,” Dave snipes. “Anyway, you guys have some kind of system, I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

Kar, who wandered back in from the bathroom at some point, squints at Dave’s work and says, “Twenty-seven should be C.”

“Fuck off,” says Dave.

 

Roxy is at the house for some reason, on Friday, which would be more disconcerting except she mostly just makes everyone new hot chocolate whenever you’re running low and disappears into Bro and Jake’s bedroom for the rest of the time.

Dave comes home from work with an extra bag.

“Ari sent dog treats for Jade’s monster,” he says, shoving the packet at her. Jade makes a delighted noise. “And some kind of fancy cat food she wants us to test on Mutie.”

“Don’t do anything that makes my baby sick,” Rose says, distractedly, from where she and Kanae are scowling down at their French textbook.

“We would never,” you say, a little offended. Then, “Hey, what else is in there?”

Dave gives the girls a hesitant look before he mumbles, “Cupcakes. From Jane.”

Rose freezes.

“We-- we ran into each other while I was walking home,” Dave says, staring down at the offending bag. “She said-- good luck to everyone. For finals.”

There’s a long, awkward silence.

“What kind?” Naemi asks, timidly.

“Red velvet,” Dave says. “There’s, uh. Enough for everybody, I think.”

There’s another silence, in which everybody squints at each other as though they’re gauging whether or not it would be some kind of emotional offense to eat Rose’s sister’s sort-of-ex-girlfriend’s cupcakes.

“Fuck it,” Kar says, and takes a cupcake.

(In the end, there’s one cupcake left. Dave hides it away in the back of the cupboards for his Bro, for later, and nobody suggests offering it to Roxy.)

 

Everybody comes over again on Saturday, even Resa, and while Dave looks nervous about it, he stays out in the living room and keeps up with the banter.

When you all wander back out to the living room after taking a lunch break, all of the textbooks, notebooks, and papers are gone. Even Dave’s laptop is nowhere to be found.

“GOD DAMMIT BRO,” he yells, in the general direction of the bedrooms. It echoes, bringing back no response.

“What the fuck,” Sol says.

“He hid everything,” Dave grumbles, dragging a hand over his eyes. “Mother _fucker_. Ugh. It’s his stupid goddamned way of telling us to take a break.”

“Effective,” Rose offers.

“I’ll _effective_ his ass,” Dave mutters, but he looks more tired than really angry.

“Maybe it’s a good idea,” you say. Dave gives you a cross look. “Come on, I think we’re all kind of _studied out_ right now. Let’s-- let’s go to the park or something, get some fresh air. You can take your camera.”

“The park is gross right now,” Kar grumps, but he’s already reaching for his boots.

“It will be fun!” Jade says brightly, grabbing her coat. “We can push the boys into the mud!”

“Try it and die,” Sol tells her. She sticks her tongue out at him.

“Stop sulking, Dave,” you say, kicking lightly at his shins. “Go grab your camera! Haven’t you always wanted to take pictures of a bunch of teenagers make fools of themselves in the muddy slush?”

“Not really,” Dave huffs, but he obediently disappears down the back hallway before returning with his camera carefully draped over his neck. “If everyone catches colds, I’m blaming you.”

“It will be my honor,” you tell him solemnly.

 

Going to the park was the best idea _ever_ , and you’re glad you can take credit for it. Naem and Jade run around climbing on _everything_ , while you and Resa team up to harass Kar and Sol by making kissy faces at them and singing stupid elementary school songs and wolf-whistling every time either one of them does anything even remotely affectionate. Rose and Kanae watch on from the safety of a bench as Kar finally gets fed up with your shit and starts throwing mud and slush at you, which rapidly devolves into a slushball war.

Dave gets pictures of _everything_.

“You’re a fucking mess,” he tells you, an hour later, as he snaps a picture of you with mud streaked down your cheeks and through your hair, caught halfway through trying to shake slush out the back of your coat without taking it off. “Real attractive, man.”

“Shut up,” you say, affectionately. “Hey, tell me about how great my ideas are and how many awesome pictures you got to take.”

“I don’t know how I would have survived if I didn’t have these pictures of Resa shoving mud down Kar’s shirt,” he deadpans, but he’s totally smiling, there’s no fooling you.

“Make sure you show them all to me after you upload them,” you say. “Wait, wait-- HEY, ROSE, COME HERE!”

“NO,” Rose yells back, which is pretty fair. You wouldn’t trust yourself after seeing some of the dirty (ha!) tricks you dished out during the mud-slush war.

“COME ON, IT’S TO HARASS YOUR BROTHER.”

“Objection,” Dave yelps, but it’s too late, Rose has already started coming over, looking intrigued. “Objection!”

“Grab his camera,” you tell Rose, and while he’s distracted by trying to keep a hold on it, you sling a muddy, wet arm around his shoulders.

“Ugh-- Egbert-- _John_ , get _off_ , you’re _filthy_ \--”

“Say cheese,” Rose croons, and you laugh over Dave’s loud protests and squish your cheek against his. The flash goes off, and he wrenches himself away, half his body smeared with mud where you were pressed against him.

“You’re a terrible person and I don’t know why I’m friends with you,” he tells you.

“Probably because I’m actually pretty great,” you say, sagely.

“Lies,” Dave says. He’s grinning, though, so you’re not too concerned.

 

Sunday morning passes in a blur of frantic cramming, and whining, and possibly a little bit of crying, but after lunch you all just kind of end up sprawled around Dave’s living room, apathetic in the face of your approaching doom. Only Dave and Rose persevere through the despondent atmosphere.

“We’re so fucked,” Sol mumbles, at one point.

“Yes,” Jade agrees. “We are.”

“Shut up,” Dave says. “Actually, all of you just get out, I’m trying to write a goddamned essay and you’re emitting some kind of aura of depression, it’s impossible for me to concentrate.”

“Do _I_ have to leave?” you whine, rolling over so your face is smooshed up against his leg.

“You can stay,” he mutters, “But only because I’m afraid you’ll go over to Vantas’ house and stay up all night worrying and fall asleep in the middle of your exams.”

“Aw, Dave, you care!”

“The rest of you,” Dave says. “ _Allez-y._ ”

“Stop,” Rose says, looking pained.

“Leave or I’ll keep speaking really poor French until Rose is feeling homicidal,” Dave adds. “You’ll all do _fine_ , go home and sleep and stop fucking stressing yourselves out.”

“Yes, _Mom_ ,” Resa mutters. One by one, everyone slowly gathers their books and notes and shoves their feet into their boots and troops out the door, looking mournful.

“You’re heartless,” you say.

“Thanks,” Dave says, and goes back to typing.

 

Exams are a blur-- it’s like you wake up Monday morning, panicking, and then the next thing you know you’re waking up again on Wednesday afternoon, sitting across from Dave at the kitchen table with a cup of noodles in front of you.

“I don’t remember getting here,” you tell Dave, staring down into the noodles.

“Finals week, man,” is all he says.

Finals week indeed.

 


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ACTUAL COUPLE THINGS HAPPEN?? in one of CHOC'S fics??? you must be imagining things  
> ETA 7/8/2015: trigger warning for brief mention/implication of death

Your name is Dave Strider, and you definitely did not fall asleep on the bed. You have woken up on the bed. You try and fail to care about this mystery.

When burrowing back into the pillows does not lead you back into the comfortable grip of sleep, you groan and flop around for a bit before forcing your eyes open to glare at the clock.

Oh. It’s like one in the afternoon.

Also there are new sheets and blankets on the bed. You give them your best sleepy, befuddled stare, then turn to look at the blanket pile. Or rather, where your blanket pile _should_ be. There’s just-- horror of _horrors--_ a bare corner of floor space, populated by a couple of pillows that are missing their pillowcases. They’re _naked._ Someone has stripped them of their dignity. It’s truly a tragedy.

There’s also a disconcerting absence of lost socks and dirty shirts littering your floor, and as you wake up a little more, you think to look at the laundry hamper, which is, sure enough, empty. It’s like your room was visited by the laundry fairy or something.

It takes a minute, but you manage to drag yourself out of bed, taking the topmost blanket with you to wrap around yourself as you waddle around the room, suspiciously checking under the bed and in the closet and under your desk in case maybe John just shoved all the dirty laundry into hiding. It’s well and truly missing, however, so you stand in the middle of the room staring warily at the open door for a moment, half-afraid Bro is going to burst in with a basket full of clean laundry and force you to fold it.

Bro has work today, though, you’re sure of it. So of course that doesn’t happen.

You slip out of the bedroom. There’s noises coming from beyond the hallway, and you follow them to the back room that houses Bro’s workbench, alongside the washing machine and dryer.

You stop in the doorway.

“Oh,” John says, brightly, “You’re up! Geez, Dave, I was starting to think you were gonna sleep forever. Pull a sleeping beauty on us or something.”

“Am I dreaming?” you wonder, out loud. “I am, right?”

It’s just that-- you just woke up, okay, and it’s the middle of the afternoon, and everything already felt a little surreal even _before_ you walked into the back room and found John surrounded by baskets, halfway through cycling laundry from the washing machine to the dryer and starting a new load in the washer. You feel like you’ve fallen into some sort of alternate universe while you slept. One where John does all the laundry.

“Shut up, Dave,” he says, rolling his eyes at you. “Go get some breakfast, I’ll be done here in a sec.”

“Are you feeling okay?” you try.

John just sighs long-sufferingly.

You manage to find a neglected box of cereal, in the kitchen, but you’re out of milk-- the empty carton is right there next to the sink, somebody must have finished it off this morning. You bet it was Bro, that asshole-- so you end up eating it dry. Maybe you’ll do the grocery shopping today, you think, still a little loopy from waking up. There’s a list on the fridge and everything. Maybe it would count as a social experience, and everyone would leave you alone about getting out of the house for the weekend.

There’s a wayward sharpie on the counter. You add milk to the grocery list.

“Hi,” John chirps, when he wanders in. “Fine cuisine, huh?”

You grumble around a mouthful of dry cereal.

“It’s nice to know that I can count on you to bring a little early-morning cheer to my life, Dave,” he sing-songs, leaning back against the counter next to you. You squint at him suspiciously.

“Finals,” you say.

“What about ‘em?” he says, easily.

“Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know,” you scrub the heel of one hand over your eyes and almost drop your bowl of cereal. “Still reeling from stress? Numb? Exhausted?”

“Some of us only had finals during the school day and had a full night’s sleep to recover,” John says. You give him your best _rub it in, why don’t you_ face. “Your brother threatened terrible things if I woke you up preemptively, how late did you even get to bed?”

You make a mournful little noise into your next spoonful of cereal and shake your head.

“What, one in the morning? Two?”

“I could have lived with that,” you mumble.

“Jesus, Dave. Three? _Four?_ ” You give him a thumbs up. “Christ, do you need to go back to bed? I promise I’ll only make fun of you a little bit.”

“You suck as a friend,” you tell him. “Why were you doing the laundry? Was that your first thought the morning after finals? ‘Gee, you know what I wanna do after like a solid week of stress and anxiety? _Chores_.’”

“Your Bro said that now that the finals craze is over, we’re responsible for cleaning everything.”

“You do realize he mostly just meant taking a bottle of spray-cleaner and some paper towels and wiping down the counters and tables, right? Throwing away snack wrappers in odd corners? Maybe dusting a little if you were feeling adventurous? _Possibly_ vacuuming?”

“Yeah,” John says. “But then I got up and I looked around our room and it was kind of like, wow, we’re pretty much drowning in dirty laundry? And I thought about it and I’m _pretty_ sure nobody had washed the sheets on the bed since you were sick, which was like a month ago.”

“You say that like a month is a long time between changing the sheets,” you say.

John eyes you warily. “I think we’ve grown up with different standards of living.”

“That was a really tactful way to put that, I’m impressed,” you say. You shove another spoonful of cereal into your mouth. “I’m just gonna throw it out there, I usually go at _least_ two. Or I forget and go closer to three.”

“ _Gross_ ,” John says, wrinkling his nose. “We’re not doing that, man.”

“No?”

“Nope.”

“Well, you can deal with it, then,” you shrug.

“You’re a dick,” John says, fondly, and steals a handful of your cereal. “And a loser, I can’t believe you’re eating dry cereal with a spoon. How do you feel about harassing Kar and Sol this afternoon?”

“What happened to going back to bed?” you try, regretfully.

“Don’t be like that,” John snorts. “You can sleep on Kar’s bed while the rest of us have fun, if you’re that tired.”

“I don’t think Kar wants my cooties on his bed,” you say.

“Kar can get over it,” John laughs. Then he sobers a little. “I mean, if you really don’t want to come, that’s... that’s fine, okay? You don’t have to try to find other excuses so you don’t hurt m--”

“I’m tired and this is probably a terrible idea,” you say, because John probably doesn’t want to hear it but it ought to be said, you think, “But yes, I kind of do want to harass Kar. Let’s go do that.”

John gives you a big, beaming smile. “After this next load of laundry is done, then, yeah?”

“And you call _me_ a loser,” you say, knocking your shoulder against his, and he laughs and you will almost definitely fall asleep at Kar’s house this afternoon, but that’s okay.

 

“God,” you say, viciously jabbing at your controller. “What a pair of losers.”

Your name is Karson Vantas and your best friend and his roommate are curled around each other like a couple of goddamned puppies on your floor, sacked out asleep.

“Shhhh,” Sol croons at you. He’s completely useless at keeping a straight face. “Don’t wake the poor babies.”

“I think Strider is snoring,” you continue, ignoring him.

“At least he’s not drooling,” Sol counters, reaching over to try to gently shift John so that the aforementioned drooling is not happening on Strider’s shirt. John makes a grumpy noise in his sleep and curls even closer.

“This is disgusting,” you moan. Then, as your character is sniped on-screen, “Shit! _Sol_.”

“I’m just playing the game,” he says, serenely. “It’s not my fault your attention was elsewhere.”

“You are such an ass.”

“You love my ass.”

“Wow, Sol, how original,” you grit out, even as you can feel your face flush hot, “Nobody’s ever used _that_ one before.”

“Well,” Sol says, twisting to grin at you with all of his teeth. There's a predatory glint in his eyes. You feel your cheeks flush darker yet. “Clichés for a reason, and all that.”

Both of you startle a little when the console blares out the end-of-match whistle-- in Sol’s favor, because he’s a fucking _cheater_ \-- but then Sol is reaching over to switch it off, and tossing his controller to the side, and crawling around your friends to get all up in your space and--

“Sol,” you whine, even as you let him herd you backwards, until the edge of your bed is supporting your back and he’s practically in your damn _lap_ \-- “Sol, c’mon, really? Fucking _now?_ ”

“What’s wrong with now?” Sol mumbles, shoving his dumb dork glasses up haphazardly so he can lean in and-- no, no, you’ve got self-restraint. Sort of. Somewhere around here.

“John and Strider are _passed out asleep_ like three feet away from us,” you hiss. Your hand goes to make a jabbing motion in their general direction, over his shoulder, but somehow you end up with your arm draped around his neck instead. Huh. “One’s best friend drooling on his roommate doesn’t exactly make for a fantastic make-out atmosphere!”

“Don’t be fussy,” Sol laughs, practically against your lips. You squirm.

“The door’s not locked, Naemi could come in any second now.”

“She always knocks loud enough to wake the dead and yowls at you a bit before coming in, we’ll have plenty of warning,” Sol sighs, like _he’s_ the one who’s put upon. “ _Kaaar..._ ”

“Didn’t we spend an entire unit in freshman health talking about how you should never let yourself be pressured into a sexual situation you aren’t comfortable with?” you snipe.

“If you really didn’t want to,” he says, seriously. “I would never.” Then he leers and adds, “I’m glad to hear _you_ were thinking about taking this in a sexual direction, too, though.”

“You are the _worst_ ,” you say, putting serious effort into sounding as scandalized as possible.

“And yet, here we are,” he snorts. He finally settles against you, straddling your lap with his hands curled around your hips. “What does that say about your taste in dudes?”

“That it’s really fucking terrible,” you mutter, but, well, John and Strider are out like lights and Naemi’s probably still watching her show downstairs, so what can it hurt? Sol’s crooked grin is yours for the taking, and that’s a temptation you had trouble resisting even before you started dating.

Of course, the second you actually lean in to kiss each other, Naemi is throwing the door open with a shout of “ _Kar!_ D’you want--”

She stops when she sees you, her jaw dropping a little as her mouth forms a startled little “o”, but it is too late, the damage has been done, one John Egbert has already startled messily awake.

“Whas--” there’s a pause where you can’t see him around Sol, but you’ve known him long enough that picturing the bleary sleep-eyes and look of mock horror is easy and automatic. “Oh, ugh, Kar, seriously, come _on..._.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” Sol snorts. He leaves his hands where they are, stubbornly ( _although they twitch like he’s itching to flip you off when you hiss “I told you so!”_ ). “PDA, much, Egbert?”

Naemi makes an incoherent noise of delight, or maybe asphyxiation-- it’s a little hard to tell with her, sometimes-- and flees the room.

“I need to get up and make sure she’s just being weird and isn’t having some kind of inhaler emergency,” you tell Sol, a little reluctantly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sol sighs. “You know what-- I might as well do it, I know where everything is.”

“Thanks,” you say, relieved, and he merely grants you a fond, exasperated look, and makes as though to get up-- but then the next thing you know your head is pinned back against the bed in a quick, hard, fucking _messy_ kiss, Sol pulling back and shoving himself to his feet as abruptly as he kissed you. He disappears after Naemi as you’re lifting a hand to wipe at your lips, making faces at John when he mimes gagging at you.

“I cannot believe you,” he informs you. “So much for the sanctity of your room from relationship bullshit!”

“I can make out with my boyfriend in my room if I damn well want to,” you snap, crossing your arms defensively. “It’s my room, I get to change the rules!”

“Do you _hear_ this guy,” John complains to Strider, and you realize after a second that he clearly means it rhetorically, because Strider is still completely out for the count.

“I am grudgingly impressed,” you say, nodding down at him.

“He had a late night,” John says, the _he did something stupid and I don’t want to feel sorry for him because he’s dumb but I’m too much of a gigantic softhearted moron to be as heartless as I want to be_ heavily implied. “And he sleeps like the dead anyway, it’s amazing.”

“I can’t believe either of you sleep that well,” you say, without thinking about it. John’s face freezes, smile dropping, and you swear. “ _Shit!_ Fuck, John, I am so fucking sorry, I’m such a moron, I shouldn’t have... goddammit. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he says, a little gruffly but a lot more gently than you deserve. “I... I don’t, a lot of the time. But it’s. It’s okay, yeah? It’s a process, or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” you agree. You rub a hand over your temple, sighing. “I’m still sorry, that was... incredibly shitty of me.”

“You weren’t thinking,” John says, kindly, then with forced cheer, “You usually aren’t! Hey, I feel kind of gross, can I use your shower?”

“Yeah, just grab some stuff out of my closet, no traumatizing my sister by running around naked,” you say, watching him stagger gracelessly upright. He laughs, or tries, anyway, and flips you off as he goes to dig through your closet for spare shorts and t-shirts. Some of them are probably his, at this point.

After he’s made his escape, Sol sticks his head back in the door. “Naemi’s fine. We were gonna make some tea?”

“Fine,” you mumble, slumping back against the side of the bed.

Sol frowns at you. “You okay?”

“I’m a fucking moron,” you tell him.

“I already knew that,” he says, almost automatically, but he crosses the room to crouch next to you, squeezing your shoulder and kissing the corner of your mouth. “It’s alright. Egbert will forgive you for whatever dumbass thing you said this time.”

“Thanks, Sol,” you grouch. He grins and steals another kiss before Naemi’s head pokes through the doorframe.

“ _Sol_ , you _said_ we were gonna--”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” he groans. He gives you a pathetic pout.

“Don’t look at me, I’m the one who has to _live_ with her,” you say. Naemi just laughs and chirps,

“I love you too, Karkitty!”

After Naemi drags your boyfriend off again, you hear the shower starting across the hall in the bathroom, and you let yourself slide down a little to wallow in your own goddamn stupidity.

Strider is still asleep, over by the gaming stuff; you’re not sure an explosion would wake him, at this point, if he’s managed to sleep through all this. But then you study him a little more closely, and you realize there’s a furrow to his brow, and a quickness of his breathing that can’t mean anything good, really.

“Strider,” you say, crawling back over to him. You shake his shoulder, hesitantly at first then harder when he doesn’t wake up. “ _Hey_ , Strider, come on.”

It takes a couple more hard shakes and a stubborn, loud “ _Strider_ ” before he wakes with a startled hitch in his breath, eyes wide, breathing still coming a little fast until his eyes focus on you.

“Vantas?” he croaks.

“Who else?” you say.

He takes a long moment to just slump back against the floor, eyes closed, taking deep breaths. You back off a little, just a few inches to make sure he’s got enough space.

“Where’d John go?”

“Shower,” you say.

“You’re all ridiculously codependent,” he says, a little absentmindedly. “I have no idea how your entire social circle didn’t collapse every time Rose went away to visit us.”

“It’s funny that you think you can throw stones,” you say, “Considering you’ve basically been abducted into our circle of codependency.”

“I can leave whenever I want,” Dave says, but he looks a little uncertain about that. “Why’d you wake me up? Lonely, Vantas? I know I’m excellent company.”

“As if,” you scoff. “No, you, uh... you kind of looked like you were having a nightmare, so. Yeah.”

He’s quiet for a second.

“Sorry,” you start to say, having resigned yourself to being the asshole of the day, “You can go back to sleep, I’ll just--”

“No, it’s--” he sighs, as though aggravated with himself. “Fine. It’s fine. You-- good call.”

You reach over to give him an awkward pat on the shoulder. He gives you a tired smile.

“John said you had a long night last night?” you prod.

“Finishing up finals stuff,” he huffs, a little of the haunted look fading from his expression. “Essay.”

“Gross,” you say, with feeling. “You got it done, though?”

“Yes,” he says. “Somehow. Although I can’t vouch for the quality of the last part, I was basically falling asleep on my keyboard at that point.”

“Ah, well,” you shrug. “Apparently Naemi and Sol are making tea, if you’re interested?”

“Tea is okay,” Dave says.

“Great,” you say, and haul yourself to your feet before offering him a hand. He takes it, and you haul him up, too. “Just so you know, uh-- if you need to. Talk. About the nightmares--”

“I don’t,” he interrupts, and grins dryly when you can’t contain your sigh of relief, “But thanks for offering.”

 

“WE’RE OUT OF MILK,” Jake yells, from the kitchen.

Your name is Dave Strider and you forgot to pick up groceries on the way home, god _dammit_.


	25. Chapter 25

tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

TT: I would like to request reinforcement troops.

TG: yeah sure im on it

TG: whats the situation

TT: Roxy has decided that Jade and I are no longer allowed to sleep over at Kanae’s house, now that we have gotten together.

TG: what

TT: What, indeed.

TG: thats really weird

TG: what does she think youre gonna do overnight that you dont do when youre spending entire days together i mean

TG: one could argue that the day is actually worse

TG: in terms of debauchery

TG: since maryams sister is at work

TG: and you have the whole house to yourselves

TT: Yes, I thought of that too.

TT: I tried that approach, while insisting that even then we had been nothing but appropriate.

TT: She still insisted we return to the house.

TG: bizarre

TG: where are you now

TT: We’re still at Kanae’s house. I’m hoping that if we manage to drag this out long enough, I’ll be able to insist it’s unsafe for Jade and I to walk home in the dark.

TG: aw man shes just gonna insist egbert and i come pick you up

TT: Don’t crush my dreams, Dave.

TG: yeah yeah sorry

TT: I don’t understand. Bro never suspects you and John of sneaking out to participate in debauchery.

TG: when have i ever even wanted to participate in debauchery at all

TG: let alone with egbert

TT: I never said anything about you and John participating in debauchery together. Is there something you need to tell me, Dave?

TG: fuck off

TG: dont make me kidnap your cat

TT: You already did. I want her back.

TG: talk to jades devilbeast then

TG: wait does he even like you

TT: Becquerel loves only his mistress.

TG: do i need to rescue my baby sister from the big bad wolf

TT: Are you really going to start the “baby sister” argument again?

TT: And no, I do not require rescuing, brother mine. Becquerel politely tolerates me for Jade’s sake.

TT: It is much the same as his attitude towards John.

TG: johns own dog doesnt like him what a goddamn tragedy

TT: I don’t think anyone’s ever been under the impression that he was anyone but Jade’s dog, to be honest.

TG: huh

TG: hey dont you have debauchery to be getting on with

TT: There will be little to no debauchery, at this point.

TT: Even if Roxy doesn’t send you to collect us, Kanae’s sister is now insisting that the door remain open if we stay.

TT: Which, of course, mortified Kanae, and the entire debate with Roxy about whether or not we got up to debauchery thoroughly embarrassed Jade.

TT: So now neither of them will give me more than a peck on the cheek.

TG: such suffering you endure

TT: I’ll show you suffering, asshole.

TG: sure thing sis

TT: So how was work today?

TG: it was pretty chill

TG: cleaned some fishtanks fed some snakes

TG: restocked dog food

TT: How do you like working with Arianna?

TG: eh shes nice

TG: dunno what else to tell you

TG: shes fun i guess

TG: talks about her frog project and her rpg group and her boyfriend a lot

TT: Her boyfriend?

TG: yeah some guy named elias

TT: That would be Naemi’s friend.

TG: huh

TT: I hadn’t realized they had gotten together.

TG: well in your defense our focus hasnt exactly been on high school social life

TT: True enough.

TT: On that note, I think it’s getting to be high time that we tackled cleaning my old house.

TG: you sure

TT: I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.

TG: alright

TG: i think the egberts are hitting up their old house again tomorrow

TG: you wanna start on your house while theyre doing that

TT: Alright.

TG: sorry rose

TT: Don’t worry about me.

TT: The sun’s almost set. I think I’ll give wringing an overnight stay out of Roxy another try.

TG: may the force be with you

TT: Dork.

tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

 

Your name is Rose Lalonde, and it’s a picturesque winter night in your fair town. The sky is dark and filled with stars, and the streetlamps cast striking shadows in black and blue over the low snowbanks and snow-dusted trees. When you exhale, the air hisses out of your lungs and floats off into the night sky like dragon-breath, warming your lips as it goes but leaving them colder when it’s gone.

You are glaring up at your beloved brother from the steps of your girlfriend’s porch. You _dare_ him to say “I told you so”. You _dare_ him.

“I didn’t say it,” Dave protests, jamming his hands deeper into the pockets of his coats and looking for all the world like he’s as irritated about this as you are.

“Didn’t say what?” John asks.

“Nothing,” you say, moodily. You sneak a glance at Jade, who is climbing to her feet to greet her own brother. Her cheeks are still tinted pink, and she hasn’t met your eyes in the last half-hour. John, however, receives an enthusiastic greeting. You sulkily swing your gaze back around to Dave. He just shrugs and offers you a hand up.

John and Jade wander ahead of you, already chattering away.

“Egberts,” Dave says, bumping shoulders with you sympathetically as you trail after them.

“Egberts,” you agree. You cast one last sullen glance at Jade’s back before you resolve to be a grownup about it. “I already told you about my Egbert problems, what did yours do?”

“John and Kar got in a fight,” Dave says. He lowers his voice. “Really dumb one, too.”

“What happened?” you ask, intrigued.

“Oh-- John was being an airhead, I guess, brought up Valentines Day being in three weeks and what should we do about that?” Dave rolls his eyes. “Since apparently with you guys, all the single people get together to sulk on Valentines Day?”

“It works,” you say.

“Sure,” Dave says. “Anyway, John was listing people he thought might want to join us and he spaced the fuck out or something and included Kar--”

You snort.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. So of course Kar goes, ‘no, idiot, I’m gonna spend Valentines Day with my boyfriend,’ and somehow it devolved into a lot of shouting and insults from there.”

“Whose side are you on?” you ask, out of morbid curiosity. “If you are indeed taking sides, that is.”

Dave takes a moment to consider it.

“Kar’s, probably,” he finally says. “I mean, I think they’re both being stupid. It’s not worth fighting about. But of course he wants to spend Valentines Day with Captor.”

“Sensible,” you say. You hip-check him playfully. “Wouldn’t have expected that from you.”

“You’re a riot,” Dave deadpans, elbowing you in retaliation.

“Who else is expected for the singles’ party, then?” you ask.

Dave tilts his head back, scrunching his nose up at the stars. “Huh… Not many people, actually, I think it was…. John, me, Resa, someone named Veronica--”

“Heaven save your soul,” you say, dryly.

“Is that John’s ex-girlfriend that everyone keeps saying is going to kill me? I’ve only seen her like twice and it’s been almost two months, man, I just don’t think it’s gonna happen.”

“She’ll get you when you least expect it,” you tell him, solemnly. “Or she would if you weren’t my favorite almost-twin brother in the world. Don’t worry, Dave, I’ll protect you.”

“I’m swooning already,” Dave says, clutching a hand over his chest, then hastily shoving it back into his pockets. “Dammit. Why couldn’t you have lived somewhere _warm?_ ”

“And miss out on this _exciting_ locale?” you say, breezily, but you incline your head toward the Egberts ahead of you, and you know he gets it when he makes a face at you. You don’t love this town, especially, but the people… “Who else?”

“Uh…” Dave shakes his head. “Can’t remember, except that Naemi’s not allowed to come, I think.”

“Banned for life for attempted matchmaking during the party,” you say. “Forbidden on the day itself, heavily frowned upon in the preceding and following weeks.”

“‘Let us be miserable lonely assholes in peace’?” Dave suggests.

“Perhaps some people,” you concede, shrugging. “But other people just don’t care and don’t really appreciate the meddling.”

Dave hums thoughtfully.

“Let’s see….” you link your arm through his and wriggle your hand into his pocket. He almost yelps at your cold fingers-- you can hear the air hissing in through his gritted teeth, and he jerks a little, but reluctantly allows it. “Arianna and Elias are dating, apparently, so they won’t be there…. You can count out myself, Kanae, and Jade, of course…. Kar and Sol will be otherwise occupied…. You know, I don’t actually know whether Fiona and Eric are together right now. I thought they were on the outs, but--”

“Got back together right before finals,” John calls, over his shoulder. “My sources are credible.”

“How credible?” you demand.

“ _Me_ , doofus,” Jade says. Huh. You guess that’s pretty credible. “And Fiona told me herself.”

“It’s sure to end in tragedy,” John says, over-dramatically. “As per usual.”

“Be nice,” Jade scolds, swatting his arm.

“We can only hope Fiona doesn’t decide she’s in love with Sol again,” you tell Dave. He gives you an incredulous look. “I wouldn’t wish Kar’s jealous rants on you.”

“Not much cause to be jealous this time around, I’d say,” John says. He drops back a few feet, falling into step alongside Dave. “Gossiping, Strider? I wouldn’t have pegged you as the type.”

“I’m not gossipping,” Dave protests. “Rose is gossipping. I’m just her sounding board.”

“Lies,” you scoff. You disentangle your arm from his-- the sidewalk’s not made for three-across, and you’re starting to get walled off into the snowbanks by the boys. “You were clinging to my every word.”

“I don’t even know most of these people,” Dave is complaining, to John, as you hurry forward to walk with Jade. She glances up, and gives you a sheepish smile.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey,” you say, smiling back.

“Sorry about earlier,” she says. “I just-- um, I guess I just didn’t really need everyone’s respective guardians heavily implying that we were gonna _get it on_? But I didn’t mean to ignore you. Kind of? Mostly.”

“Mostly didn’t mean to, or mostly meant to?” you can’t help asking.

“To be honest it was more like fifty-fifty,” Jade admits, and you laugh and lean in to kiss her cheek. “Really, though, did you _have_ to start talking to Roxy about whether or not we were gonna get up to sexy stuff?”

“It was a reasonable standpoint for the argument,” you insist. Jade’s brow furrows and her lips curl down. “ _Jade_ , you _knew_ we wouldn’t do anything you didn’t want to!”

“Well, it kind of felt like you were implying that I _should_ be wanting to do that, and that was the point of wanting to stay over!” Jade shoves her hands in her pockets and glares ahead. “And all _I_ wanted to do was sleep in a pile with my girlfriends and maybe have Kanae make me breakfast and not feel like I had to stick my hand down anybody’s--”

“We’re _right here_ ,” John says, loudly, and you and Jade whip around to find Dave and John, illuminated by a streetlamp, the very picture of brotherly horrification.

“Sorry,” Jade mutters.

“I’m not,” you say, under your breath, and Dave squawks indignantly. “I wasn’t trying to imply that, Jade. I just couldn’t think of any other reason why _Roxy_ would be objecting to it, since, as you said, our plans were to sleep in a puppy pile and force Kanae to make breakfast.”

“And leave Roxy all alone in the house?” John points out.

You all stop where you are, and it’s very quiet for a moment.

You didn’t think of that.

“Just a thought,” John finally mumbles, hunching his shoulders defensively. Dave is staring at him, and you can see the gears turning-- the same gears that are turning in your head, the gears that say, maybe John was worried about Dave staying home alone when he first moved in because _he_ didn’t want to be home alone. Maybe he still doesn’t want to be home alone. Maybe Dave should be leaving him with Kar on afternoons when he has work.

But then, John is a big kid, and he can make those decisions for himself.

“But I feel like we’re excluding Kanae,” Jade says, hunching her own shoulders and staring down at her boots. “I mean, you and I share a room, and a bed, and we see each other _all the time_ and I feel like Kanae gets left out of all that stuff.”

“Clearly,” you say, without really thinking about it, “The solution to this is for Dave and I to get an apartment together after graduation, so it will all be fair again.”

Jade’s expression becomes even more distraught.

“Jade?”

“Whatever,” Jade mumbles, spinning on her heel and marching off in the direction of the house again.

“Jade, wait up,” you say, and run after her. Obviously it’s just because you’re worried that she’s too upset to pay attention to her surroundings and she might walk into traffic. Obviously.

 

Your name is Dave Strider and this is a fucking tragedy.

“She’s so perceptive,” you say, mournfully, staring after your sister’s retreating back. “Except when she actually _needs to be_.”

“To be fair they usually just kind of ignore the fact that Jade is a year below them,” John says, half-heartedly. “It might take Rose a minute to remember. And then another minute to figure out that Jade’s afraid of being left behind or whatever.”

“That’s pretty dumb,” you say. John shrugs.

“You gonna take Rose up on that offer, then?” he asks, forcing cheerfulness into his tone. “Brother-sister apartment time?”

“Wouldn’t last a month,” you scoff. “I mean, I love her and all that, but…”

“Not in a living-together kind of way?” John arches an eyebrow at you. “You know, everybody else _has_ to live with their siblings.”

“Untrue,” you say, kicking at a snow clump on the sidewalk. It crumbles to powder before it can go anywhere. “Plenty of half-siblings, or siblings with a big age difference, live apart.”

“Not the majority, though,” John persists.

“Whatever,” you say. “To live with Lalonde would be to court disaster, and that’s the end of it.”

“What’re you gonna do with your gap year, then?”

You think about it, watching the girls as you do. They’re far ahead of you, now, Rose evidently trying to wheedle an Important Conversation out of Jade with doubtful levels of success.

“I dunno,” you say. “I guess my plan was mostly to travel around as much as I could and take a fuckton of pictures. Maybe work a little. Apply for colleges at some point. All that good stuff.”

“Nice,” John says, a little wistfully.

“You’ll be back here with Jade, I guess?” you say, cautiously.

“Yeah,” John says. He scuffs his boot against the ground. “Gotta find a job, I guess. Figure out someplace to live.”

“Bro would probably let you stay,” you try.

John rolls his eyes. “Yeah, sure, that’d be cool. Me living _without you_ with your brother and his boyfriend, Jade stuck living alone with your sister. Not,” he adds, quickly, “That there’s anything wrong with your family--”

You punch his arm. “I didn’t think you were saying anything was wrong with my family, moron.”

“Whatever, just didn’t want to offend you,” John grumbles. “...I wish I could come with you, instead.”

“There’s not a way you could--?” you hesitate.

“I mean,” John sighs, a big, gusty breath that drifts away in a cloud. “ _Sure_ , there’s _ways_ , and I think Roxy actually technically _is_ her legal guardian right now? But that’s not-- it really wouldn’t be fair, to Jade, for me to do that.”

“I guess not,” you say. Jade and Rose have made it to their porch, and Jade’s body language doesn’t say anything good, but you guess that things are still kind of alright as long as she and Rose haven’t started shouting at each other yet. You glance back at John. He’s staring off into the distance, zoning out, lips twisted down and face creased with frustration. With you, with the girls, with himself-- who knows.

 _I’ll take all the pictures in the world for you_ , you want to tell him. _I’ll call you all the damn time. Video chat. Send you souvenirs._

But you doubt he really wants to hear that right now.

“Come on,” you say, instead. “I think I’ve figured out how Roxy fixes that special hot chocolate. Let’s go inside before our fingers fall off.”

“ _Some_ of us remembered gloves,” John says, snootily, but he’s right on your heels as you unlock the door and head straight for the kitchen.

(Your attempt to make the hot chocolate nearly ends in disaster, but it’s drinkable, and John laughing at your ineptness in the kitchen is better than John frowning at the future.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies to people who follow me on tumblr and saw me swear i'd try to get this done before my trip (which was several weeks ago). that didn't happen, obviously, and actually when i looked at the half-finished draft for this chapter when i got back i just scrapped it and wrote the whole thing today.  
> i've fixed the pesterlogs in chapter 23! sorry about those, i guess i was just tired and forgot to do the coding and stuff.  
> as always, i would really appreciate comments and concrit!


	26. Chapter 26

“So I hear you decided to cancel happy girlfriend fun time this Wednesday.”

Rose doesn’t look up as you cautiously walk around the mini-bar in her mother’s old room. She’s cross-legged on the ground with a picture frame in her hands, and her expression is perfectly blank.

“Do you remember this photo?” she says, instead of answering. You crouch next to her as she tilts the frame towards you. You squint obligingly at the picture.

You and Rose, nine years old, awkwardly, shyly appraising each other. Roxy’s behind your younger self with her hands on his shoulders, looking at Rose with wide eyes and a shaky smile.

“The first time we met,” you say, tracing the edges of the frame with your fingers absentmindedly. The composition of the shot is shitty-- everything’s in the middle, the focus is a little weird, you can barely see anyone’s face. “D’you think Bro took this, or your mom?”

“Probably Bro,” Rose says. She gnaws on her bottom lip, staring down at the picture. “Mom would have made us turn to look at the camera, stand up straight, smile and all of that. She probably would have told Bro to get in the picture, too.”

“Yeah,” you say. You both stare at it for a long moment. “You know I was so fucking nervous to meet you?”

“Were you?”

“Yeah, like,” you tip yourself backwards until your butt hits the floor, then lean back on your hands. “I didn’t have any goddamn friends, so I was like, oh shit, what if I suck at this socializing thing and I fuck up and she never wants to talk to me again?”

Rose huffs out a laugh.

“It was like the only time I ever talked to anyone my age,” you say. “During our visits.”

“I know,” Rose says. She tucks the frame into the cardboard box in front of her, already packed with other trinkets from around the room. “Now that you do have friends, what do you think of the experience?”

“Exhausting,” you say, and Rose laughs for real this time. She lists to the side, resting her head on your shoulder. You rub her back as comfortingly as you can. Ms.Lalonde’s room wasn’t exactly crammed with sentimental material to begin with-- it was pretty sparse by the time Bro and Jake were finished hauling all the alcohol out, you don’t even want to know how they got rid of it-- but the few pictures there are have been of Rose, at various points in her life, half of them candids to catch her smiling.

“I am so goddamn sick of looking at wizards, Dave,” she mumbles into your shoulder.

“I guess I shouldn’t suggest donating them to Roxy, then,” you say, then make a big deal out of whining dramatically when Rose swats your arm.

“You said something,” she says, removing her head from your shoulder, “When you came in? Something about girlfriends?”

“Oh, yeah,” you say. “I kind of thought we were just gonna ignore that but yeah, that’s a thing I did. Happy girlfriend fun time, Wednesday, cancelled?”

“Oh,” Rose says. “Yes. That.”

“I mean, we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but--”

“No, it’s fine.” Rose tucks her knees up to her chest, crosses her arms on top of them and rests her head on top of her arms. She peers up at you. “I think-- I think I’m going to call myself out of school sick for the day.”

You look at her askance.

“Not to stay with Roxy,” she says, hurriedly, and you both wince, because Roxy has made her opinion on the possibility of a pity-party abundantly clear. There was a lot of swearing involved. “I just thought…. maybe I would go down to the bakery for the day.”

You drum your fingers against the floor, considering it.

“Bad idea?” Rose asks, quietly.

“No,” you say. “I think Jane would probably appreciate it. It’s just…. were they planning on meeting up to, uh, talk again? On Wednesday?”

“I don’t know,” Rose sighs. “Nobody’s said anything to me about it.”

“Well, I guess just tell Jane ahead of time that you’re coming,” you say. “And if they do want to meet up they’ll be able to work around it.”

“Hmm.”

“But also, if you’re skipping school to hang out with Jane, I don’t see why you can’t still have happy girlfriend fun time after school lets out.”

“I’m skeptical that I’ll be in the mood for a romantic Valentine’s date after I’ve spent the morning with my sister’s undoubtedly tired and sad ex-girlfriend,” Rose says, dryly.

“Are they?” you ask, and Rose blinks. “Ex-girlfriends? I thought…”

“I mean…” Rose curls a little more tightly in on herself. “They’ve been, what is it, ‘taking a break’? For a month now, and….”

“They’ve been dating for like a decade though,” you say, and your voice comes out unexpectedly small and Rose takes one look at you and lifts an arm up for you to duck under so you can curl up against each other. “Jesus, Rose, do you really think…”

She stares at the empty shelves. “I just… A month-long break for one little fight? Dave, that’s not…”

You mouth one LITTLE fight? back at her and she scowls.

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t want them to break up,” you say, miserably, and you don’t even care how childish and selfish that sounds. “Where is Jane gonna live? Where has she been living? Will we not see her anymore? How long before she and Roxy can be in the same room again?”

Rose doesn’t have an answer for that-- you didn’t think she would-- so she just squeezes your shoulders. You sit there, silently leaning on each other in Ms.Lalonde’s dusty, empty old room until you hear the front door slam open downstairs and Bro is yelling that it’s time for dinner, time to come home.

Home, huh.

 

You wake up on Valentine’s Day to John’s obnoxiously cheerful “rise and shine!” and promptly roll over and go back to sleep.

Three hours later you stagger back out of your room, awake for real, to find a collection of notes waiting for you on the kitchen table.

“Ugh,” you say, and pick up the eye-bleedingly bright pink one that’s probably from Bro. It just tells you to eat the leftovers in the fridge for lunch and not to forget to go to work or do your schoolwork. The plain white note is from Jake, and there’s a bit of money underneath it-- apparently the two of them are going out for dinner tonight-- “Gross,” you mutter-- and you and John can fend for yourselves however you so choose. John’s note is written on a spare piece of composing paper, the fucking dork, and it reminds you that he’s gonna be hanging out with Veronica and Resa after school, but he can try to get them to swing by your house after you get out of work if you want to join in.

There’s no name on the lonely yellow post-it note, but you would know Rose’s handwriting anywhere.

Going to the bakery.

“Goddammit,” you say, because you have lessons to get through online, and you should really do them before you have work this afternoon and come back to John’s weird single sulk party or whatever. But there it is, going to the bakery, so instead you stagger back into the bathroom to brush your teeth and put on a sweater so you can jam your feet into boots, bury yourself in winter gear and stumble out into the unforgivingly cold Washington air. There better be some fucking muffins waiting for you when you get there.

 

Your name is John Egbert and wait, wait, this was not the plan, how the hell did you end up alone on Valentine’s Day?

“This is taking single sulk party to a whole new level,” Dave says, from the doorway, where he’s trying to pry his boots off with frozen fingers. Usually this is when you would get up to help him, but today he is being a dick, so he can struggle through it on his own. So there. You pout at him from your position sprawled dramatically across the couch instead.

“The girls ditched me,” you whine. “This wasn’t supposed to happen, Dave. This was not my plan.”

“Uh-huh,” Dave says. He doesn’t seem terribly surprised. You squint up at him suspiciously. “Your glasses are falling off, dude, you gotta sit up or you’re gonna lose ‘em.”

You reluctantly exert the minimum effort to prop yourself up on a pillow so your glasses stay on your face. “Why are you not surprised by this horrible, shocking turn of events?”

“I was pretty sure something like this was gonna happen when Rose started going through your social circle to see who wouldn’t be doing gross couple stuff and it turned out basically everyone you know has hooked up,” he says. He finally wrestles his second boot off, then yanks his entire coat over his head without even trying to undo the zipper.

“Dude.”

“Don’t judge me, I can’t feel my fingers,” he says. “Did you make food?”

You sigh as loudly as you can. “Too busy wallowing in my misery and loneliness.”

“Cool, English left us money for takeout, let’s get pizza,” Dave says. He stumbles into the kitchen, and there’s clattering for a few seconds before he returns with a twenty. “You have to do it, though, because I don’t know what our options are.”

“Holy shit, I’ve let you live in this town for two months and never taught you where to get pizza?”

“Yeah, I know, super rude of you,” he says, dropping the phone on the coffee table next to you then toppling over to lie on top of your legs on the couch.

“Long day?” you say, sympathetically, reaching down to ruffle his hair.

“Rose and I spent the morning at the bakery with Jane,” he says, muffled into your legs. Your hand freezes in surprise. “What.”

“I thought Rose was sick?” you say, carefully, half-question.

“Sucker,” Dave snorts.

“But she--” you stare down at him. “She lied?”

“Oh my god, John.” Dave barks out a laugh, short and sharp around the edges.

“Sorry,” you mutter. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“She wouldn’t have paid much attention in class anyway,” he says. He twists to the side enough to look at the edge of the couch instead of your legs and picks at some lint. “Today would’ve been Roxy and Jane’s eleventh anniversary.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” Dave scoffs and rolls off the couch. “I gotta go get my laptop, I’m behind on my school shit…. I don’t care what you get on the pizza.”

“Dave, wait, come on--” you manage to grab the hem of his sweatshirt before he can sweep past you down the hallway. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to talk about it, I’m sorry I responded weird to the Rose thing--”

“I just can’t believe you got all the way to your senior year of high school and you’re surprised by someone faking sick,” Dave snipes, but he doesn’t yank his entire sweatshirt off to escape you and stomp down the hallway, so you’ll take it. He sinks back down onto the couch with a long, shuddering sigh, and rubs a hand through his hair. “I’m just. Shit. Sorry.”

“You’re really fucked up over this,” you say, hesitantly.

“I was pretty young when they started dating,” he mutters. “So I guess it’s like, rocking my entire world or whatever. I don’t know how to deal with this. Jane and Roxy broke up and my brother is actually fucking dating English, it’s all mixed up.”

“You don’t want your bro to date Jake?” you frown in confusion. You hadn’t noticed that Jake and Dave got along poorly, but--

“No, it’s just weird,” Dave shoves his face into his hands. “Look, so English was-- English was in the class above my bro, right, so he graduated high school when my bro was seventeen and I was, like, fucking seven. Then he fucked off to, I don’t know, some college abroad, and we completely lost touch with him.”

“Okay….”

“Rox and Jane had just started dating by then, right? And then they and Bro graduated, and Bro started homeschooling me, so those three people were like, you know, my entire world. So sure, I had vague memories of the guy and Bro was-- pining ridiculously or whatever, but that didn’t actually affect my life at all.” Dave heaves out a huge sigh and lets his hands drop away from his face. “Then all the sudden all this shit happens and we had to move away from Houston, then when we got to New York my fucking father and Jake show up so not only are we moving again, surprise, new roommate, and now English tells me to eat a better breakfast and all I can think is ‘dude that’s Jane’s job,” but surprise again Jane’s gone now and I’m just like--”

“Dude,” you say, “You gotta breathe.”

“Ugh,” Dave says, with feeling. He tosses his shades onto the table and shifts so that he’s flopped all over your legs again. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You reach down to ruffle his hair. He makes irritated noises at you but offers no resistance. “You know you can talk to me about this stuff before we piss each other off and it comes out in rant mode, right? Like, I’m here for you, man.”

“Why ruin a system that works,” Dave mumbles against your knee.

“Uh, I don’t know, roomie harmony?” you laugh. “Did it at least feel better to get that out?”

“I don’t know, maybe,” he groans. “Can you just order the pizza already? Also, who the fuck keeps texting me?”

“That’s a question you must answer for yourself,” you say, but now that he mentions it your phone has been buzzing for a while now too. You do your best to fish it out of your pocket without disturbing Dave--”I don’t fucking care, dude, just move my arm if it’s in your way, jesus”-- and flip it open to check your text backlog.

carcinoGeneticist [CG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB]

CG: OKAY SO I’M OFFICIALLY THAT MORON WHO PICKS A FIGHT WITH HIS BOYFRIEND ON VALENTINE’S DAY.

CG: CAN I COME OVER?

CG: JOHN?

CG: JOHN.

CG: JONATHAN EGBERT.

CG: WHAT COULD YOU POSSIBLY BE DOING THAT’S MORE IMPORTANT THAN PUTTING UP WITH MY ROMANTIC INEPTITUDE.

CG: TEXT ME BACK OR I’LL SWITCH TO BOTHERING STRIDER.

CG: JOHN COME ON.

CG: UGH.

 

tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB]

TT: I’m coming over, likely with my girlfriends in tow.

TT: I will not accept no for an answer.

TT: The only reason I am forewarning you is because my dear brother isn’t responding to my texts to him.

TT: I suppose you aren’t either.

TT: Please finish up with whatever “bro bonding” activity you’re in the middle of before we arrive.

“...I think we’re gonna need more money for pizza,” you say.

 

“We were talking about our feelings,” you say, when Rose waves her phone with the novel-length text backlog to you in front of your face. “Well. My feelings. No, I don’t want to talk about it again, don’t you dare.”

“Fair enough,” Rose says, with a shrug. Your name is Dave Strider and at least your sister knows when to quit. “Jade and Kanae may or may not be on their way.”

In the kitchen, you can hear John very earnestly saying something about “honestly, you’re not romantically inept, it’s just general ineptitude that’s carrying over to your romantic life!” while Kar swears a lot.

“May or may not?” you ask.

“Well, they’re not responding to my texts either. My assumption is that they’re either making out without me and will hasten to your doorstep when they stop to check their phones, or I’m in hot water for cancelling on-- what did you call it?”

“Happy girlfriend fun time,” you supply, helpfully.

“Yes, of course,” Rose rolls her eyes. “In which case they will probably continue to ignore me and I won’t see either of them until I return to school tomorrow.”

“Well,” you say. She doesn’t seem particularly bothered either way. You guess it was getting to be about time that the emotional crisis hit the tipping point where Rose goes apathetic and you’re the one losing your shit. “We ordered a fuckton of pizza, so whichever is cool.”

Rose shrugs with one shoulder. “Okay.”

You look at her sidelong. She raises her eyebrows back at you.

“I can’t actually read your mind, Dave,” she says, in her best long-suffering tone of voice.

“Did they… Rox and Jane. Did--”

Rose grimaces. “I think… I think Rox came over to the bakery a little while after I left.”

She doesn’t offer any more, so you prompt, “And?”

“And I haven’t seen or heard from either of them since, so I’m assuming nothing good happened and they’re trying to keep it under the radar to spare everyone else’s Valentine’s Day from their misery.”

“Ah, yes,” you say, as you both take a moment just to appreciate the steady stream of Kar’s ranting drifting out of the kitchen. “Our picturesque day of romance. Wouldn’t want to spoil that.”

“You cleaned out the fish tanks today, didn’t you,” Rose says.

“And the snake tanks,” you say. Nothing like crumbling molted snake skins to get you feeling the love. “But Ari dropped by for a minute to give me a pack of obnoxious glittery heart stickers to put on them, so that was fun.”

“That was nice of her.”

“I know, right? I’m sure the fish appreciated our efforts to brighten their lives.”

The background noise of Kar ranting gives way to John laughing.

“No news from your girls still?” you ask.

Rose makes a face at you and fishes her phone out of the pocket of her hoodie to glance at. “Is it going to sound terrible if I say I don’t really care right now?”

You consider about how you accidentally word-vomited your feelings all over John earlier, and how everything feels kind of unreal right now, like you tripped and fell right through the sidewalk to some kind of fucking alternate reality.

“Nah,” you say. “You do you.”

“Thanks,” she says, shoving her phone back into her pocket. She finally flops down onto the sofa next to you. “In hindsight, this was a poor choice of a point in my life to start a relationship.”

“It probably seems like a much better idea on the good days.”

“Hmm.”

“Honestly it’s not much worse than Bro’s choice of a point in his life to start a relationship,” you say, “And he seems to be doing pretty alright.”

“Dave,” Rose says, lolling her head onto your shoulder to stare up at you solemnly. “Has it occurred to you that our family has a lot of issues?”

“So many issues,” you say. “So many.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is. an update. one year later and here i am. i think i swore on my life i would finish this at one point so finish it i will


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shame.jpg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the usual trigger warnings for brief mentions of past minor character death

February slowly, painstakingly oozes its way into March.

“Absolutely not,” Rose says, when you go to put a “property of Roxy Lalonde” sticker on one of the boxes full of wizard figurines.

“Rose,” you say, very reasonably, “Where else are we going to donate these?”

“Literally anywhere else,” she says, snippily. “I have had quite enough of wizard figurines judging me as I go about my life around the house.”

From the other room, Jane snorts.

“See?” Rose tells you. “Jane understands my plight. We’re kindred spirits, are we not, Jane?”

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” Jane says, coming into the room with a tray full of mugs and baked goods. You and Rose practically throw yourselves at her to get to the cupcakes. “Good grief. Anyway, I think Rose wins this round, since at least I didn’t have their judgement tormenting me in my formative years.”

“If we’re talking about torment in our formative years, Dave wins by default.”

“I’m glad you acknowledge my years of suffering at the hands of plush puppety rumpus,” you say, then stuff an entire cupcake in your mouth.

“DAVID STRIDER,” Jane shrieks over Rose’s delighted laughter.

“Mmmphgh,” you mumble, cupping your hand over your mouth to prevent crumb spray and giving her a thumbs up with the other hand.

“You are truly disgusting,” Rose says, gleefully, and for a split second you look up at her and you’re both ten again, shouting _that’s so gross!_ with the enthusiasm only kids torturing bugs can muster. You give her a thumbs up, too.

“Eleven years and I still haven’t managed to teach you any manners,” Jane says, shoving a napkin at you with a stern frown. You shrug remorselessly, wiping at the frosting around your mouth as you slowly chew.

“He’s unteachable,” Rose says. She gives you a peck on the cheek, grabs a cupcake of her own, and flounces out of the room, presumably to decide what color shower curtains to buy for the open house or some shit.

“Where did I go wrong,” Jane wonders aloud, giving you a despairing side-eye. You give her your best _want me to write you a list?_ look. “I don’t need your sass, young man. Go help your sister.”

You swallow the last of your cupcake, say “I don’t think anyone under thirty-five can call anyone else ‘young people’ unironically,” steal another cupcake and flee, Jane’s scolding shouts following you all the way down the hallway.

“You’re in a good mood,” Ari says, leaning against a fish food display with more confidence than you will ever be able to put in a structure that collapsed six times as the two of you tried to put it together earlier.

“Am I?” you say. You look pointedly between her and the heart stickers you’re trying to scrape off the fish tanks. The manager finally noticed them and is making you remove all of them, as though the customers don’t think it’s fun.

“Less of a resting scowl,” Ari confirms, cheerfully, completely ignoring the mess of stickers. “More of a neutral expression.”

“That’s reassuring,” you say, tapping your finger mournfully against the gross residue the last sticker you pried off left behind. It’s a pain in the ass to clean up. “Egbert keeps telling me I’m not as hard to read as I think I am, I was starting to think I was going soft.”

“You’re soft like a marshmallow, Dave,” Ari says. The bell on the door rings and she pats your shoulder as she pushes away from the display and heads back to the front. “So gooey you’re practically falling apart on yourself, because your insides are collapsing.”

“Wow, okay,” you say, raising your voice to be heard as she walks away from you. “That got kind of weird and morbid and I’m really not sure how to take it.”

“Oh, no,” John says. Your head snaps up and you practically fall over yourself whipping around to look. He grins at you from down the aisle, taking his hat off. “Weird and morbid is, like, practically Ari’s flirting mode. Should Elias be worried?”

“ _I’m_ worried.”

Ari laughs. “You’re precious.”

You make faces at her retreating back as, satisfied that the potential customer was merely John, she skips off to check out the progress of whatever bizarre experiment she’s doing with the frogs.

“You get lonely all by yourself with the cat, Egbert?” you ask, going back to picking half-heartedly at the stickers.

“As if! Kar was helping me clean up my old house,” he says. He ambles down the aisle to your side. “But then we went back to his house for lunch, and _then_ Sol showed up, so I decided to save myself the cavities and get out of their way. Thought I’d grab some stuff for Mutie on my way home.”

“You’re in the wrong aisle for cat treats, bro.”

“We need kitty litter, not treats,” John says. “Geez, Dave, pay more attention to the needs of our precious feline daughter.”

“Excuse me,” you say. “You’re the one who steps on her all the time.”

“She just loves me so much and she’s always so _there_ ,” John whines, which, to be fair, is true. Mutie loves you both so much with all her fuzzy little heart. You’ve started looking down at your feet before committing to any movements at home, because otherwise you’re in serious danger of hearing the tragically betrayed, startled “meep” she makes when you accidentally catch her underfoot.

“Anyway,” you say, looking away from John to have another go at peeling the stickers off the zebra fish tank. “I pay plenty of attention to Mutie’s needs, I just thought we had, like, a veritable dragon’s hoard of kitty litter and kibble in the back room.”

“In the back room?”

“Yeah, dude, back by the washing machine and shit?”

“Why would you keep _kitty litter_ near the _laundry?_ ” John says, sounding scandalized.

You give him an unimpressed look. “Where else should we be keeping it?”

“I dunno! Literally anywhere else?”

You lower your shades enough to squint suspiciously at him over the tops. “Where did you guys keep your kibble for the hellbeast?”

“Uh, by his food bowl, you know, a reasonable place where it makes sense and is easy to get to!”

“Uh huh,” you say. “And how often did he break into the unopened kibble bags?”

John glowers at you.

“Just saying,” you say, sliding your nail under the edge of a cupid sticker just enough to get it to start coming off. “Maybe hold off on buying any more kitty litter right now. Check the hoard when you get back.”

“Sure, fine, whatever,” he grumbles. “Anyway, why was Ari being weird and morbid when I came in?”

“It was a whole thing,” you say. Half of the sticker peels off, leaving you staring with great disappointment at the other half, which is only the terrible paper and glue part that you have to sell your soul to remove. “Conversational tangent that ended up somewhere bizarre. Apparently I’m in a good mood.”

“You’ve _been_ in a good mood,” John says.

“Have I?”

“Yeah, you’ve been less grouchy.”

“Huh,” you say.

“Makes sense if you think about it long enough,” John adds.

You guess he’s right. Work is going okay, school stuff is going okay, Ms.Lalonde and Mr.Egbert’s estates are slowly but surely being taken care of, you and John are getting along well-- Jane is around more, the most she’s been since January, and it’s nice. It’s all… nice.

“I guess,” you say, picking ineffectually at the rest of the sticker.

John watches you for a moment, then says, “This is so sad.”

“Listen, I didn’t ask you to come in here and start judging my sticker-removing abilities,” you say, snippily. “Make yourself useful or leave me to do my job.”

“Leave you to suck at your job, you mean!” John says, and ducks into your space to ruffle your hair vigorously before dodging away, laughing as you swear at him and try to fix your hair, and disappearing back down the aisle.

“You suck!” you yell after him.

“So,” Ari says, brightly, when you’re taking off your apron and name tag at the end of your shift. “I didn’t know you and John were co-parenting a kitten together.”

“What, no,” you say. “We are not co-parenting a kitten together. We’re taking care of Rose’s cat for a little while, because she has to live with Jade’s monster of a hellhound. Temporary measures.”

“But she’s a kitten?” Ari wheedles.

“Yeah, I guess,” you say, doubtfully. What’s the limiting time span on cats versus kittens? Mutie can’t be any older than eight or nine months, now, but don’t kittens grow up when they’re like a year old? Shit. You don’t know. You’ve never cared about cats before Mutie.

“And she thinks you’re her daddies?”

“No, no no no you’re taking this the wrong way. She knows Rose is her momma.”

“I’m sure, but does she also think you’re her daddies?”

“I don’t want to have this conversation anymore,” you say, and Ari laughs at you _again_ , so you throw your apron at her and bundle yourself up for the walk home and resolutely do not think at all about the warm fuzzies that the idea of you and John co-parenting your sister’s cat is giving you.

Or the warm fuzzies that the John dropping by while you were at work gave you, for that matter.

Yeah. None of those are things that happened. Or that you would be thinking about, if they did happen. Which they didn’t.

...Fuck.

tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

TT: You are, of course, aware of when John’s birthday is, correct?

TG: yeah of course i am

TG: wait

TG: shit

TG: aw fuck me

TT: There we go.

TG: shut the fuck off lalonde

TG: i still have a month

TT: Three weeks would be a more accurate estimate.

TG: theres still time

TT: Mm-hmm.

TG: rose why do you like making me suffer so much

TG: after everything ive done for you

TG: ive been nothing but a good brother

TG: where is the love

TT: You seemed to do well enough with Christmas gifts, so I think you should be fine.

TT: However, I am available if you feel the need to consult anyone for advice.

TG: no love

TG: none

TG: your heart is as dark and black as your lipstick

TT: I’ll have you know I’m wearing lavender lipstick today, Dave.

tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

Kar’s dad is the one who answers the door after you’ve been banging on it for a solid twenty seconds, which was not part of your plan. For some reason you forgot about the whole _other people have parents and those parents might not want you abusing their houses_ thing for a minute.

“Hi, I, um, is Kar home,” you mumble, jamming your hands in your pockets.

“Yes,” Mr.Vantas laughs. He doesn’t seem upset, at least. He ushers you inside. “He’s upstairs. Dave, right? Come on in.”

You hang your coat up and kick your boots off while Mr.Vantas goes to call up the stairs, “KAR! You have a visitor!”

“I’M COMING!” Kar shouts back. There’s the clatter of footsteps descending the stairs at top speed before he sticks his head around the corner. “Who’s-- Strider?”

“Yo,” you say.

“Huh,” Kar says. He gives you a confused look. “Hey, I guess. Wasn’t expecting you. What’s up?”

“I need your advice,” you say. “For something top secret.”

Kar squints at you for a second, then goes “ohhh,” then “Dad, we’ll be in my room, Strider needs help figuring out what to do for John’s birthday.”

“Those are not the words I said,” you say, loudly, but it’s too late, Kar is already grabbing your arm and dragging you up the stairs to his room.

“Yes,” Kar says. “And I’m sure you thought you were being slick, but that’s pretty much the same damn thing Rose said to me every time Kanae’s birthday rolled around when we were in middle school.”

You stare at him suspiciously as he drags you into his room and shuts the door behind you solidly. You don’t know if you like the implications of that comparison.

“I’m just telling it like it is,” Kar says, and flops down on his bed. You steal one of the floor-pillows from his gaming corner to sit on. “So what’s the problem? You seemed to do alright with Christmas. John seemed happy with what you got him, anyway.”

“Yeah, I guess,” you grumble. You lean back on your hands. “But like…. I kinda used up all my ideas or something on that, I think.”

“Get him a video game, then,” Kar says.

“Is that what you’re doing? Because with my luck we’ll end up both getting him the same game.”

“Then text me what you’re getting him, loser,” Kar says. “Speaking of which, why didn’t you just text me to ask? What’s with the visit?”

“Sometimes I ask him to look stuff up on my phone while I’m doing something else and I forget I have conversations open, so….”

“You’re a disaster,” Kar says. You look up and startle a little at the sharp grin on his face. “You didn’t even bat an eyelash over Rose’s birthday, did you?”

“I’ve experienced many Rose-birthdays,” you say, warily. “They’re not much to get excited over at this point in my life. We’ve had our joint birthday parties and moved on.”

Kar is still looking down at you smugly.

“What,” you say.

“Nothing,” Kar says, “Just thinking that karma’s great.”

“What,” you say.

“But seriously, unless you’re here to say you want help planning a damn surprise party, just get him a video game. Otherwise I don’t know what to tell you.”

“You’re useless,” you mutter, letting your elbows unlock so you topple back onto his floor. You stare up at the ceiling. “What do you do for Sol’s birthdays?”

“Do you even _hear_ yourself,” Kar says. Before you can ask him what he means by that, he adds, “Usually Naem and the girls and I make him a cake, and make him chill the fuck out for a day, since his birthday is always right around finals.”

“Shit, that sucks.”

“Eh,” Kar says. “Right on graduation this year, so that’ll be exciting. Besides, the way John talks about your birthday, you weren’t super into the whole celebrating thing.”

You shrug. “It’s not a big deal. So I’m older, what about it.”

“So why’re you getting worked up over John’s, then?”

“First of all, I am not getting worked up,” you say, propping yourself up on your elbows again so you can glare at Kar. He just rolls his eyes at you. “Second of all, he actually seems like he cares about this stuff, and--”

You hesitate.

“And?” Kar prompts.

“And,” you say, gruffly. “I think he felt pretty rough about. His first Christmas without his dad. And I figured his birthday might be kind of the same. So.”

“Ah, shit,” Kar mumbles.

“So I am _trying_ to be a _good friend_ , you asshole,” you say.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a dick, whatever,” Kar says, waving a hand at you dismissively, but his expression is softer. “You’re probably right, his dad kind of went all-fucking-out for his birthdays. But, y’know….. he’s probably gonna miss him no matter what you do. You can’t really replace it.”

“I know that,” you snap, “But that doesn’t mean he should have to think about it all day.”

“Jesus, calm down,” Kar snaps back. He drags a hand down his face. “Look. I gave you my suggestion for presents, alright? That’s all I can really do here. If you think my ideas suck, you know what else he likes, you fucking live with him. If you want to throw him a party, get back to me, I’ll help. But don’t yell at me.”

“Ugh,” you drop back down to sprawl on the floor again. “Sorry.”

He sighs. “It’s fine. Just chill out, okay?”

There’s a light tap at the door, and then a creak as it opens. You both turn to see Sol poke his head in.

“Who are you talking t-- Strider? What’s he doing here?”

“Clearly we’re having a torrid affair,” you say, turning back to look up at the ceiling again. Maybe the ceiling knows what you should do for John’s birthday. It can’t be any less helpful than Kar.

“I’m heartbroken,” Sol snorts.

“He’s overthinking John’s birthday present,” Kar says. You flip him the middle finger without looking. “He asked me what I usually do for _your_ birthdays.”

Sol is quiet for long enough that you turn to look at him again, but by then he’s crossing the room to climb onto Kar’s bed with him and his back is to you.

“I don’t want anything to do with this,” Sol says. “Call me if there’s a party. Give Egbert a hug and a cake or something. Drive him off to see the sunset somewhere romantic. I don’t really care.”

“Okay, god, fine, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was going to be interrupting gross cootie-swapping time, I’ll leave,” you say, shoving yourself to your feet. You don’t even have time to object to the “drive him somewhere romantic” line, because even if Kar is shoving at his shoulders and making embarrassed faces at him, it’s pretty obvious that Sol is gearing up for sloppy makeouts, and you don’t want to be within a mile of this room when the kissing starts.

“Good luck,” Kar yells after you, as you flee.

“Yeah, whatever, have _fun_ ,” you yell back.

“We will!” Sol hollers. Kar squawks indignantly, and then you are blessedly out of earshot. You give Mr.Vantas an awkward little half-wave on your way out.

As you trudge home, squinting suspiciously at the dark sky-- you hope it won’t rain, honestly, it’s late March and you’re sick of all this bullshit “almost freezing temps but not really so have fun with the precipitation, suckers” weather-- you scowl at the sidewalk. _Drive him off to see the sunset somewhere romantic_. Jesus christ. Can’t a guy try to look out for his roommate and do something nice without everybody making it into a _thing?_ Besides, how the fuck would you drive John anywhere? It’s not like you have a license, or even a--

Car?

You stop.

His dad’s car.

Holy shit that’s it.

turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG]

TG: alright you probably wont see this for like another twelve fucking hours or something

TG: since youre too busy sticking your tongue down captors throat

TG: but i have an idea

TG: first things first

TG: if either you or captor make a single snide comment about the obvious inspiration i will drop kick both of you into the pacific

TG: anyway

TG: when youre done defiling your poor innocent bed

TG: i need the insider scoop on some stuff in the area

TG: smell you later

turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering carcinogeneticist [CG]

CG: IS THAT A FUCKING POKEMON REFERENCE.

carcinogeneticist [CG] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

 


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im doing my best

“I just don’t understand why he’s _avoiding_ me,” you whine.

“Uh huh,” Kar says, without looking up from his textbook, because you are John Egbert and your best friend doesn’t love you enough to pay attention to your suffering. Or text you first when he finally gets together with his long-time crush. Which you are definitely not still bitter about.

Mostly.

Okay maybe a little bit.

“I mean, my _birthday_ is coming up,” you sulk. “Shouldn’t he be _nice_ to me?”

“John, I want you to actually apply critical thought to the words that are coming out of your mouth for a second,” Kar says. You stare at him uncomprehendingly. “What was the last thing you said?”

“Dave should be nice to me because my birthday is coming up?”

“Which is a debatable point, because it’s not your actual birthday yet, but whatever. And what did you say before that?”

“I don’t understand why he’s avoiding me?”

Kar makes an abrupt, irritated gesture at you, like you should just _understand_ whatever he’s trying to tell you.

“I don’t get it,” you say.

Kar sighs. “John. Dave is avoiding you, and your birthday is coming up. I can’t put two and two together for you any harder.”

“Oh,” you say. “Ohhhhh.”

“Yes, there we go.”

“Oh man,” you say. A grin breaks across your face. “I wonder if he’s got something up his sleeve or he’s just worried he’ll spoil my present? Oh oh, what if he’s still figuring out what to do for my present? Hey, Kar, has he said anything to you? Does he have something big planned?”

“No, I’m not telling you anything else, you’ve used up your free handout for the week,” Kar says, shoving you away when you reach over to jostle him. His chemistry textbook tumbles out of his lap. “Ah, shit, look what you’ve done now.”

“The rest of the _week?_ ” you groan, collapsing dramatically across his lap. “Kar! My birthday is _happening_ in a week! I can’t wait that long.”

“The two of you are a goddamn mess,” Kar says. “Come on, whatever Strider’s problem is, you’ll find out when it’s time, stop mooning over him and help me study. The AP exams don’t care that your damn birthday is coming up.”

“I’m not _mooning_ over him!”

“Just pass me my textbook,” Kar says.

 

“Tragically, ‘lots of cool dead things’ is not really the vibe I’m hoping for, Ari, but I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. Can you please--”

“Don’t be so fussy,” you hear Ari say, like Dave is being completely unreasonable. Maybe he is. You just walked into the shop now. “‘Lots of cool dead things’ is an excellent vibe to aspire to, Dave.”

“Yeah, well, I think there’s situations where it’s just not appropriate, and this is possibly one of-- _look_ , will you just--”

You poke your head around to look down the aisle the voices are coming from and stop short.

“Hi, John!” Ari chirps, like she isn’t perched at the top of a stepladder holding Dave’s sunglasses above his head and kicking his feet off the rungs of the ladder whenever he tries to steal them back. As you watch, she swipes his feet out from under him and he crashes face-first into her chest.

“That’s not very nice,” you say, faintly, because what else can you say when you walk in on your roommate literally trying to climb a girl like a tree.

“This is not what it looks like,” Dave says, shoving himself away from Ari with enough force that he almost crashes into the shelf behind him. “Ari, you asshole, give them back.”

“I give you perfectly good suggestions and you repay me with no respect,” she says, tilting her chin up regally.

“Your suggestions were terrible,” Dave says. “John, tell her that cool dead things are circumstantially inappropriate.”

“I don’t have any context for this?”

“That’s not important, you’re on my side, you have to be.”

“Why did you ask for my ideas if you were just going to be rude about it?” Ari, who you note doesn’t actually look very offended, demands.

“You were my last resort,” Dave says, “Full offense.”

“Dave that’s mean,” you protest. “Is this about my birthday? I don’t want cool dead things for my birthday.”

“SEE,” Dave yells, throwing his arms up in vindication. “I told you! Circumstantially inappropriate! Can I please have my damn sunglasses back!”

Ari stands on the top rung of the stepladder, puts the sunglasses down on the highest shelf she can reach, then hops out of the way with a serene smile, practically dancing back to the register.

“You’re the worst coworker I’ve ever had,” Dave yells after her, scrambling up the ladder. He almost slips at the top, wobbling dangerously, and you dive to stabilize him. He catches himself with a hand on top of your head, almost clenching at your hair before he stops himself.

“I’m the only coworker you’ve ever had,” Ari calls back. You glance back at her, catching yourself scowling and tightening the steadying hand you have at the back of Dave’s knees. She just grins at you. “So I’m also the best.”

“I don’t deserve this,” Dave says, mournfully, hopping down from the ladder as soon he’s grabbed his sunglasses. He shoves them back on his face. “Thanks, man. Sorry about that.”

“No problem,” you say. “It was shitty of her to steal your glasses like that.”

“I think this is how she expresses her affection,” Dave says. “Or something. She was under some sort of weird misconception that we were bonding and having fun.”

“No, bonding by being obnoxious and getting under your skin is more Resa and Vera’s deal,” you say. “I dunno what Ari’s problem was.”

“Like I said, she thought it was all fun and games, so who fucking knows,” Dave says. “Not me, that’s who. Anyway, what brings you to the kingdom of kibble?”

“I, uh, was kind of hoping you could get off early,” you say, scuffing your shoes on the ground for fidgeting’s sake. “So you could help me cram for my exam.”

“Shouldn’t you do that with Kar and Sol?” Dave says. He loops an arm around the stepladder and heaves it over his shoulder. You always forget how weirdly strong he is, given how wiry he looks. “I mean, I’d be happy to, dude, but, like, I don’t know shit about chemistry.”

“Kar and Sol are taking the night off to rest,” you whine. You trail after Dave while he takes the stepladder back to the staff room, hovering in the doorway while he puts it away. “Because they’re weak.”

“Alright, so maybe--just possibly--let’s _consider_ , for one moment--that maybe Vantas and Captor have the right idea? Let your brain rest a little bit before you--?”

“No, Dave, you have to be on my side, that’s how this works, you said so yourself like two minutes ago.”

“I thought we were allowed to betray each other for each other’s sakes or something,” Dave says. He steps out of the staff room, closing the door behind himself. “You undermine me ‘for my own good’ or whatever all the fucking time, you traitor.”

“But I _need_ to study,” you wail, throwing yourself at him dramatically. He grunts in surprise, but catches you. “Daaave. You don’t understand. Kar and Sol can take a break because they already studied their asses off.”

“ _You_ have been studying your ass off,” he says. “Or--I don’t know, John, what’s the truth? What have you _really_ been doing while you lie around in the living room with papers and textbooks and AP practice tests all over the goddamn place?”

“Secretly playing Candy Crush on my phone,” you say, morosely, “And staring into the void.”

Dave snorts.

“You owe me help,” you add. “Because _apparently_ you haven’t figured out my _birthday present_ yet, even though my birthday is in _two days, Dave!_ ”

“I know what I’m doing for your birthday, you loser,” he says. He starts walking backwards towards the register, dragging you along as he goes. You’ll let go if another customer comes in. Maybe. “I’m just working out some details.”

“You can’t hide from the truth,” you say, your face basically mushed against his shoulder at this point.

Dave dumps you across the stool behind the register.

“Ow,” you say, blinking up at him sadly.

“Stay there while I get my apron off and pick up my shit,” he says. “Ari, sorry, apparently I’m clocking out early. Roommate crisis.”

“Aww,” Ari says. She leans over you, appearing in your field of vision upside-down. “You gonna make it, John?”

“Dave, don’t leave me alone with her, if I die for real she’ll do something weird with my corpse,” you call.

“Guess you shouldn’t die in the next thirty seconds, then,” Dave yells back.

“What’s the crisis?” Ari asks, still upside-down.

“My AP chem exam is tomorrow morning,” you say, with all the deep and true sadness you feel in your heart.

Ari fucking laughs at you.

“Make him take a nap, go over his flashcards one last time, and go to bed early,” she says, apparently to Dave. You loll your head to the side and find Dave pulling his jacket on. “He’ll live.”

“You hear that, Egbert? No corpse for Ari to do weird shit with.”

“Yay,” you say, deadpan.

“Get him home safe,” Ari says, with the least sympathy you’ve ever heard from anyone, ever. “Good luck, Dave. With the other thing, too. Remember, the ‘cool dead things’ vibe is still a possibility.”

“No,” you and Dave say, in unison. As Dave hauls you back up off the stool, he adds, “It’s really not.”

 

He makes you take a nap, go over your flashcards one--then two--last times, somehow stubbornly puts together a balanced, healthy dinner for you out of the leftovers in the fridge, and makes you go to bed early.

“Dave,” you whisper, into the darkness of your room. It’s Dave’s turn on the bed, but he ceded it to you, claiming you needed all the good-night’s-sleep help you could get. “Dave I can’t sleep I’m too nervous.”

“What the fuck do you want me to do,” Dave grumbles. “Tell you a damn bedtime story?”

“ _Yes_ ,” you say. “Totally, do it.”

Dave is quiet for a minute. You’re starting to think he’s decided to ignore you and go to sleep and leave you to suffer alone when he finally speaks up.

“Once upon a time--you told me to do this, so don’t fucking laugh, alright?”

“I won’t!”

“You better not. Once upon a time, there was--a knight, who served a prince.”

There’s something in Dave’s voice, a little catch, that makes it sound like this is going to be personal, somehow. You realize, guiltily, that maybe you set him up for that, demanding a story on the spot when he’s trying too hard to help you to say no.

Not that you’re gonna stop him.

“The knight and the prince lived alone. The knight didn’t mind, because he thought the prince was the only other friend he needed, even if the whole rank situation made it kind of a weird friendship. And sometimes they would even get visits from, uh-- from a lady bandit and a--fuck, I dunno, a maiden, who had been friends of the prince’s before he got his own castle. So the knight figured that he had plenty of friends, and he didn’t have to try to make nice with other knights.

“Then one day the prince found out about, uh--a queen. And there was a witch in the queen’s court, who was basically the same rank as the knight, so for once he actually got to talk to someone he actually related to. And he realized it was pretty cool, but again he was like, well, now I have a person who can fill this role in my life, so I don’t need more, right, that’d be redundant. So he kept talking to the witch but he still didn’t try to talk to any other witches or knights.

“And then this--shit. Sorcerers are the go-to evil dudes, right? This fucking sorcerer shows up and he wrecks the castle, and the prince and the knight had to run away. And the bandit and the maiden let them stay for a while, but then the sorcerer wrecked that castle, too, and they’re all like ‘well fuck’ so they decided to go take sanctuary in the queen’s castle, because she and the witch were, you know, really far away, so they thought it’d be safe.”

Oh.

Oh, no.

You know what this story is.

“So they get to the queen’s castle, but before they have time to even, like,” Dave swallows, loudly, and your eyes have adjusted enough in the dark to see that he’s not looking at you, even as you slowly sit up and swing your feet off the bed. “Say _hello_ or anything, the sorcerer shows up, and he wrecks the queen’s castle too, and he kills the queen, and--and this local lord or whatever.”

Your breath hiccups in your throat.

“And then he tries to fuckin’, I dunno, kidnap the knight and kill the prince, but this other prince saves them and kills the sorcerer,” Dave says, and you hear him make this horrible, awful breathy laugh-sob noise. “And that’s, like, where a good story would end, the bad guy’s dead, except this is a shitty story so instead all that’s left are all these sad, uh--court members, right, the prince and the knight and the bandit and maiden and the queen’s witch. And they miss the queen a lot, especially the witch, but they’re all just--really shit about talking about feelings and all that bullshit, like the absolute worst--”

Your chest fucking _aches_ , you can feel tears running down your cheeks, your nose starts running, it’s so gross--

“But then the witch has these, uh, these friends--” Dave sniffles. You watch him scrub at his face with the back of a wrist. “This, this other knight, and another witch, and they were from the local lord’s court, and they’re sad too, but they’re, shit, they’re just better at it--”

“Better at being sad?” you interrupt, weakly teasing.

“Fuck you, Egbert,” Dave says, his voice catching, and you can’t help yourself anymore, you launch yourself across the room to dive into the blanket pile with him. Dave makes a startled noise, but you don’t wait for him to try to push you away, just worm your way under the blankets with him and wrap yourself around him like an octopus. “Uh. Sh-should I keep--”

“Yeah,” you say. “The new knight and the witch who are better at being sad.”

“Yeah, right, or, fuck, whatever, that’s what the first knight thinks at least,” Dave says. “Because he’s really, honestly just so shit at the whole feelings thing. Uh. Anyway. So. The new knight comes to stay at the princes’ new castle, and like, everything still really fucking terrible for a while, and everyone’s really sad, but it’s--it’s not as bad as it could be, for the knight, ‘cause now he has the other knight to talk to, and the other knight introduces him to a bunch of other new knights and a fuckton of new people from other courts, and everyone is still kind of sad and fucked up but at least they’re sad and fucked up together and that makes it less shitty. And the knight realized he was a fucking moron for thinking he didn’t need friends before.”

Dave takes a deep, shuddering breath. You feel the heave of his ribcage under your arm.

“The end.”

It’s quiet in the room for a really long time. Dave’s breathing rattles his way in and out, in and out of his lungs. You sniffle into his shoulder, wishing you’d thought to grab the tissue box on your way across the room.

After a while--you don’t know how long--five, ten minutes later?-- you finally say, “I can’t believe you just tried to inspire me for my AP chemistry exam with the world’s saddest power of friendship story.”

“Shut the fuck up, asshole,” Dave snaps, but you can feel the shiver of his shoulders as he tries not the laugh.

“Better at being sad, honestly,” you continue, relentlessly, “I’m so flattered, Dave. You’re so completely wrong it blows my mind, but I’m still flattered.”

“I’m never telling you a story ever again, fucker.”

“I should be so lucky,” you say, smiling sleepily against his shoulder.

“Next time I’ll just tell you to put some classical music or whatever the fuck and stop being obnoxious,” he threatens, except the second half of it comes out muffled against your hand because you slap it over his mouth.

“Shhh,” you say. “Only sad friendship hugs now.”

“I hate you,” he says.

“No, you love me,” you say, “You just told me a fairytale about how important my friendship is to you, Dave, you can’t escape from this.”

“I regret every decision in my life that led me to this moment.”

“No you don’t.”

“Fuck off.”

“You can’t make me.”

He probably could, but he must be too tired to bother with that kind of effort, because instead he just makes an annoyed noise and buries his face against the top of your head.

“Hey,” you say, lowly, after another indeterminate stretch of silence. You’ve kind of melted all over the place in the blanket pile, sprawled messily across Dave and the pillows, too relaxed to think about getting up and getting back in the bed. Your arm is still across his ribcage. His face is still pressed to your hair. Is this weird? You guess you’ve never been quite this touchy feely at sleepovers at Kar’s house. “Dave?”

Everything about yours and Dave’s relationship is a little weird, though, and has been from the beginning, so that’s probably alright. If Dave isn’t gonna say anything, neither will you.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, sounding mostly asleep.

“Thanks.”

“Mmph,” he says, patting your back. His breath tickles over the top of your head.

You don’t remember anything between thinking, fleetingly, _I wish we could stay like this forever_ and passing out right where you are.

 

In the morning, Jake throws together a full, hearty breakfast for you before your exam.

“Brain food,” he says, grinning brightly. You give him the best smile your sleep-addled brain can manage, fumbling with your fork and desperately trying not to dump your plate of omelet all over the floor. Mutie would be happy, but Dave would never let you live it down. “You sleep well?”

“Yeah,” you say, around a yawn. “Weird dreams, I think.”

“Oh?” Dirk says. “Bad weird, or just weird?” 

“Mmm, just weird,” you say. “Maybe even good weird? I’unno. Think it was something about knights.”

Dave chokes on his orange juice. You grin.

You have a good feeling about today. You’re gonna kill this exam, and then tomorrow will be your _birthday_.


End file.
